WESTWAYS 


HUGH  WYNNE. 

CONSTANCE  TRESCOT. 

THE  YOUTH  OF  WASHINGTON. 

CIRCUMSTANCE. 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF  FRANCOIS. 

THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  QUACK. 

DR.  NORTH  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 

IN  WAR  TIME. 

ROLAND   BLAKE. 

FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

CHARACTERISTICS. 

WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN. 

A  MADEIRA  PARTY. 

THE  RED  CITY. 

HERHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

A  COMEDY  OF  CONSCIENCE. 

A  DIPLOMATIC  ADVENTURE. 

THE  GUILLOTINE  CLUB. 

JOHN  SHERWOOD,  IRONMASTER. 

WESTWAYS. 


DOCTOR  AND  PATIENT. 
WEAR     AND     TEAR— HINTS    FOR     THE 
OVERWORKED. 


COLLECTED  POEMS. 

THE  WAGER,  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

THE  COMFORT  OF  THE  HILLS. 


WESTWA  YS 

A   VILLAGE   CHRONICLE 


BY 

S.  WEIR  MITCHELL,  M.D.,  LL.D. 

Author  of  "Hugh  Wynne,"  "The  Adventures  of  Frangois/ 
"Constance  Trescot,"  etc.,  etc. 


NEW  YOEK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1913 


Copyright,  1913,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 


Published,  September,  1913 


I  DEDICATE  THIS  BOOK 

WHICH  RECALLS  CERTAIN  SCENES  OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR 
TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  THREE  BROTHERS 

R.  W.  M. 

N.  C.  M. 
E.  K.  M. 

ALL  OF  WHOM  SERVED  IN  THE  ARMIES 
OF  THEIR  COUNTRY 


268752 


PEEFACE 

There  will  be  many  people  in  this  book;  some  will  be  im 
portant,  others  will  come  on  the  scene  for  a  time  and  return  no 
more.  The  life-lines  of  these  persons  will  cross  and  recross,  to 
meet  once  or  twice  and  not  again,  like  the  ruts  in  a  much  used 
road.  To-day  the  stage  may  be  crowded,  to-morrow  empty.  The 
corner  novels  where  only  a  half  dozen  people  are  concerned  give 
no  impression  of  the  multitudinous  contacts  which  affect  human 
lives.  Even  of  the  limited  life  of  a  village  this  is  true.  It  was 
more  true  of  the  time  of  my  story,  which  lacking  plot  must  rely 
for  interest  on  the  influential  relations  of  social  groups,  then 
more  defined  in  small  communities  than  they  are  to-day. 

Long  before  the  Civil  War  there  were  in  the  middle  states, 
near  to  or  remote  from  great  centres,  villages  where  the  social 
division  of  classes  was  tacitly  accepted.  In  or  near  these  towns 
one  or  more  families  were  continuously  important  on  account  of 
wealth  or  because  of  historic  position,  generations  of  social  train 
ing,  and  constant  relation  to  the  larger  world.  They  came  by 
degrees  to  constitute  what  I  may  describe  as  an  indistinct  caste, 
for  a  long  time  accepted  as  such  by  their  less  fortune-favoured 
neighbours.  They  were,  in  fact,  for  many  years  almost  as  much 
a  class  by  themselves  as  are  the  long-seated  county  families  of 
England  and  like  these  were  looked  to  for  helpful  aid  in  sick 
ness  and  in  other  of  the  calamities  of  life.  The  democrat  time, 
increasing  ease  of  travel  and  the  growth  of  large  industries, 
gradually  altered  the  relation  between  these  small  communities, 
and  the  families  who  in  the  smaller  matters  of  life  long  remained 


PKEFACE 

singularly  familiar  with  their  poorer  neighbours  and  in  the  way 
of  closer  social  intimacies  far  apart. 

It  seemed  to  me  worth  while  to  use  the  life  of  one  of  these 
groups  of  people  as  the  background  of  a  story  which  also  deals 
with  the  influence  of  politics  and  war  on  all  classes. 


WESTWAYS 


WESTWAYS 


CHAPTEK  I 

THE  first  Penhallow  crossed  the  Alleghanies  long  before  the 
War  for  Independence  and  on  the  frontier  of  civilisation 
took  up  land  where  the  axe  was  needed  for  the  forest  and  the 
rifle  for  the  Indian.  He  made  a  clearing  and  lived  a  hard  life 
of  peril,  wearily  waiting  for  the  charred  stumps  to  rot  away. 

The  younger  men  of  the  name  in  Colonial  days  and  later  left 
the  place  early,  and  for  the  most  part  took  to  the  sea  or  to  the 
army,  if  there  were  activity  in  the  way  of  war.  In  later  years, 
others  drifted  westward  on  the  tide  of  border  migration,  where 
adventure  was  always  to  be  had.  This  stir  of  enterprise  in  a 
breed  tends  to  extinction  in  the  male  lines.  Men  are  thinned 
out  in  their  wooing  of  danger  —  the  belle  dame  sans  merci. 
Thus  there  were  but  few  Penhallows  alive  at  any  one  time,  and 
yet  for  many  years  they  bred  in  old-fashioned  numbers. 

As  time  ran  on,  a  Penhallow  prospered  in  the  cities,  and 
clinging  to  the  land  added  fresh  acres  as  new  ambitions  developed 
qualities  which  are  not  infrequently  found  in  descendants  of 
long-seated  American  families.  It  was  not  then,  nor  is  it  now, 
rare  in  American  life  to  find  fortune-favoured  men  returning  in 
later  days  to  the  homes  of  their  youth  to  become  useful  in  many 
ways  to  the  communities  they  loved.  One  of  these,  James  Pen 
hallow, —  and  there  was  always  a  James, —  after  greatly  pros 
pering  in  the  ventures  of  the  China  trade,  was  of  the  many  who 
about  1800  bought  great  tracts  of  land  on  the  farther  slope  of 

3 


4  WESTWAYS 

the  Pennsylvania  Alleghanies.  His  own  purchases  lay  near  and 
around  the  few  hundred  acres  his  ancestor  took  up  and  where  an 
aged  cousin  was  left  in  charge  of  the  farm-house.  When  this 
tenant  died,  the  house  decayed,  and  the  next  Penhallow  weary 
of  being  taxed  for  unproductive  land  spent  a  summer  on  the 
property,  and  with  the  aid  of  engineers  found  iron  in  plenty  and 
soft  coal.  He  began  about  1830  to  develop  the  property,  and 
built  a  large  house  which  he  never  occupied  and  which  was  long 
known  in  the  county  as  "  Penhallow's  Folly."  It  was  con 
sidered  the  more  notably  foolish  because  of  being  set,  in  un- 
American  fashion,  deep  in  the  woods,  and  remote  from  the  high 
way.  What  was  believed  to  be  the  oldest  pine-tree  in  the  county 
gave  to  the  place  the  popular  name  of  "  Grey  Pine  "  and  being 
accepted  by  the  family  when  they  came  there  to  live,  "  Penhal 
low's  Folly  "  ceased  to  be  considered  descriptive. 

The  able  and  enterprising  discoverer  of  mines  had  two  sons. 
One  of  them,  the  youngest,  married  late  in  life,  and  dying  soon 
after  left  a  widow  and  a  posthumous  son  John,  of  whom  more 
hereafter.  The  elder  brother  was  graduated  from  West  Point, 
served  some  years  with  distinction,  and  marrying  found  him 
self  obliged  to  resign  his  captaincy  on  his  father's  death  to  take 
charge  of  the  iron-mills  and  mines,  which  had  become  far  more 
important  to  the  family  than  their  extensive  forest-holdings  on 
the  foot-hills  of  the  western  watershed  of  the  Alleghanies. 

The  country  had  long  been  well  settled.  The  farmers  thrived 
as  the  mills  and  mines  needed  increasing  supplies  of  food  and 
the  railway  gave  access  to  market.  The  small  village  of  West- 
ways  was  less  fortunate  than  the  county.  Strung  along  the  side 
of  the  road  opposite  to  Penhallow's  woods,  it  had  lost  the  bus 
tling  prosperity  of  a  day  when  the  Conestoga  wagons  stopped 
over-night  at  the  "  General  Wayne  Inn "  and  when  as  yet  no 
one  dreamed  that  the  new  railroad  would  ruin  the  taverns  set  at 
intervals  along  the  highway  to  Pittsburgh.  Now  that  Westways 
Crossing,  two  miles  away,  had  been  made  the  nearest  station, 


WESTWAYS  5 

Westways  was  left  to  live  on  the  mill-wages  and  such  profits  as 
farming  furnished. 

When  Captain  James  Penhallow  repaired  the  neglected  house 
and  kept  the  town  busy  with  demands  for  workmen,  the  village 
woke  up  for  a  whole  summer.  In  the  autumn  he  brought  to 
Grey  Pine  his  wife,  Ann  Grey,  of  the  well-known  Greys  of  the 
eastern  share  of  Maryland.  A  year  or  two  of  discomfort  at 
Western  army-posts  and  a  busy-minded,  energetic  personality, 
made  welcome  to  this  little  lady  a  position  which  provided  un 
accustomed  luxuries  and  a  limitless  range  of  duties,  such  as 
were  to  her  what  mere  social  enjoyments  are  to  many  women. 
Grey  Pine  —  the  house,  the  flower  and  kitchen-gardens,  the 
church  to  be  built  —  and  the  schools  at  the  mills,  all  were  as 
she  liked  it,  having  been  bred  up  amid  the  kindly  despotism  of 
a  great  plantation  with  its  many  dependent  slaves. 

When  Ann  Penhallow  put  Grey  Pine  and  the  Penhallow  crest 
on  her  notepaper,  her  husband  said  laughing  that  women  had 
no  rights  to  crests,  and  that  although  the  arms  were  surely  his 
by  right  of  good  Cornish  descent,  he  thought  their  use  in  Amer 
ica  a  folly.  This  disturbed  Ann  Penhallow  very  little,  but  when 
they  first  came  to  Grey  Pine  the  headings  of  her  notepaper  were 
matters  of  considerable  curiosity  to  the  straggling  village  of 
Westways,  where  she  soon  became  liked,  respected,  and  moder 
ately  feared.  A  busy-minded  woman,  few  things  in  the  life  of 
the  people  about  her  escaped  her  notice,  and  she  distributed  un 
invited  counsel  or  well-considered  charity  and  did  her  best  to  re 
strain  the  more  lavish,  periodical  assistance  when  harvests  were 
now  and  then  bad  —  which  made  James  Penhallow  a  favourite 
in  the  county. 

Late  in  the  summer  of  1855,  John  Penhallow's  widow,  long  a 
wandering  resident  in  Europe,  acquired  the  first  serious  illness 
of  a  self-manufactured  life  of  invalidism  and  promptly  died  at 
Vevey.  Her  only  child,  John,  was  at  once  ordered  home  by  his 
uncle  and  guardian,  James  Penhallow,  and  after  some  delay 


6  WESTWAYS 

crossed  the  sea  in  charge  of  his  tutor.  The  dependent  little 
fellow  hid  under  a  natural  reserve  what  grief  he  felt,  and 
accustomed  to  being  sent  here  and  there  by  an  absent  mother, 
silently  submissive,  was  turned  over  by  the  tutor  to  James  Pen- 
hallow's  agent  in  Philadelphia.  On  the  next  day,  early  in  No 
vember,  he  was  put  in  charge  of  a  conductor  to  be  left  at  West- 
ways  Crossing,  where  he  was  told  that  some  one  would  meet 
him. 

The  day  was  warm  when  in  the  morning  he  took  his  seat 
in  the  train,  but  before  noon  it  became  clouded,  and  an  early 
snow-storm  with  sudden  fall  of  temperature  made  the  boy  sen 
sible  that  he  was  ill-clothed  to  encounter  the  change  of  weather. 
He  had  been  unfortunate  in  the  fact  that  his  mother  had  for 
years  used  the  vigilant  tyranny  of  feebleness  to  enforce  upon  the 
boy  her  own  sanitary  views.  Children  are  easily  made  hypo 
chondriac,  and  under  her  system  of  government  he  became  self- 
attentive,  careful  of  what  he  ate  and  extremely  timid.  There 
had  been  many  tutors  and  only  twice  long  residence  at  schools  in 
Vevey  and  for  a  winter  in  Budapest.  The  health  she  too 
sedulously  watched  she  was  fast  destroying,  and  her  son  was  at 
the  time  of  her  death  a  thin,  pallid,  undersized  boy,  who  disliked 
even  the  mild  sports  of  French  lads,  and  had  been  flattered  and 
considered  until  he  had  acquired  the  conviction  that  he  was  an 
important  member  of  an  important  family.  His  other  mother 
—  nature  —  had  given  him,  happily,  better  traits.  He  was  an 
observer,  a  born  lover  of  books,  intelligent,  truthful,  and  trained 
in  the  gentle,  somewhat  formal,  manners  of  an  older  person. 
Now  for  the  first  time  in  his  guarded  life  he  was  alone  on  a 
railway  journey  in  charge  of  the  conductor.  A  more  unhappy, 
frightened  little  fellow  could  hardly  have  been  found. 

The  train  paused  at  many  stations;  men  and  women  got  on 
or  got  out  of  the  cars,  very  common-looking  people,  surely,  he 
concluded.  The  day  ran  by  to  afternoon.  The  train  had 
stopped  at  a  station  for  lunch,  but  John,  although  hungry,  was 


WESTWAYS  7 

afraid  of  being  left  and  kept  the  seat  which  he  presumed  to  be 
his  own  property  until  a  stout  man  took  half  of  it.  A  little 
later,  a  lean  old  woman  said,  "  Move  up,  sonny,"  and  sat  down. 
When  she  asked  his  name  and  where  he  lived,  he  replied  in  the 
coldly  civil  manner  with  which  he  had  heard  his  mother  repress 
the  good-natured  advances  of  her  wandering  countrymen. 
When  again  the  seat  was  free,  he  fell  to  thinking  of  the  unknown 
home,  Grey  Pine,  which  he  had  heard  his  mother  talk  of  to  Eng 
lish  friends  as  "  our  ancestral  home/'  and  of  the  great  forests, 
the  mines  and  the  iron-works.  Her  son  would,  of  course,  inherit 
it,  as  Captain  Penhallow  had  no  child.  "  Eeally  a  great  estate, 
my  dear,"  his  mother  had  said.  It  loomed  large  in  his  young 
imagination.  Who  would  meet  him  ?  Probably  a  carriage  with 
the  liveried  driver  and  the  groom  immaculate  in  white-topped 
boots,  a  fur  cover  on  his  arm.  It  would,  of  course,  be  Captain 
Penhallow  who  would  make  him  welcome.  Then  the  cold,  which 
is  hostile  to  imagination,  made  him  shiver  as  he  drew  his  thin 
cloak  about  him  and  watched  the  snow  squadrons  wind-driven 
and  the  big  flakes  blurring  his  view  as  they  melted  on  the  panes. 
By  and  by,  two  giggling  young  women  near  by  made  comments 
on  his  looks  and  dress.  Fragments  of  their  talk  he  overheard. 
It  was  not  quite  pleasant.  "  Law !  ain't  he  got  curly  hair,  and 
ain't  he  just  like  a  girl  doll,"  and  so  on  in  the  lawless  freedom 
of  democratic  feminine  speech.  The  flat  Morocco  cap  and  large 
visor  of  the  French  schoolboy  and  the  dark  blue  cloak  with  the 
silver  clasp  were  subjects  of  comment.  One  of  them  offered 
peanuts  or  sugar-plums,  which  he  declined  with  "  Much  obliged, 
but  I  never  take  them."  Now  and  then  he  consulted  his  watch 
or  felt  in  his  pocket  to  be  certain  that  his  baggage-check  was  se 
cure,  or  looked  to  see  if  the  little  bag  of  toilet  articles  at  his  feet 
was  safe.  The  kindly  attentions  of  those  who  noticed  his  evi 
dent  discomfort  were  neither  mannerless  nor,  as  he  thought,  im 
pertinent.  A  woman  said  to  him  that  he  seemed  cold,  would  n't 
he  put  around  him  a  shawl  she  laid  on  his  knees.  He  declined 


8  WESTWAYS 

it  civilly  with  thanks.  In  fact,  he  was  thinly  and  quite  too 
lightly  clad,  and  he  not  only  felt  the  cold,  but  was  unhappy  and 
utterly  unprepared  by  any  previous  experience  for  the  mode  of 
travel,  the  crowded  car  and  the  rough  kindness  of  the  people, 
who  liking  his  curly  hair  and  refined  young  childlike  face  would 
have  been  of  service  if  he  had  accepted  their  advances  with  any 
pleasure.  Presently,  after  four  in  the  afternoon,  the  brakeman 
called  "  All  out  for  Westways  Crossing." 

John  seized  his  bag  and  was  at  the  exit-door  before  the  train 
came  to  a  stand.  The  conductor  bade  him  be  careful,  as  the 
steps  were  slippery.  As  the  engine  snorted  and  the  train 
moved  away,  the  conductor  cried  out,  "  Forgot  your  cane,  sonny," 
and  threw  the  light  gold-mounted  bamboo  from  the  car.  He 
had  a  new  sense  of  loneliness  as  he  stood  on  the  roofless  plat 
form,  half  a  foot  deep  in  gathering  snow,  which  driven  by 
a  pitiless  gale  from  the  north  blew  his  cloak  about  as  he 
looked  to  see  that  his  trunk  had  been  delivered.  A  man  shifted 
a  switch  and  coming  back  said,  "  Gi'me  your  check."  John  de 
cided  that  this  was  not  safe,  and  to  the  man's  amusement  said 
that  he  would  wait  until  the  carriage  of  Captain  Penhallow 
arrived.  The  man  went  away.  John  remained  angrily  expectant 
looking  up  the  road.  Presently  he  heard  the  gay  jingle  of  bells 
and  around  a  turn  of  the  road  came  a  one-horse  sleigh.  It 
stopped  beside  him.  He  first  saw  only  the  odd  face  of  the 
driver  in  a  fur  cap  and  earlets.  Then,  tossing  off  the  bear  skins, 
bounded  on  to  the  platform  a  young  girl  and  shook  herself  snow- 
free  as  she  threw  back  a  wild  mane  of  dark  red  hair. 

"  Halloa !  John  Penhallow,"  she  cried,  "  I  'm  Leila  Grey.  I  >m 
sent  for  you.  I  'm  late  too.  Uncle  James  has  gone  to  the  mills 
and  Aunt  Ann  is  busy.  Been  here  long  ?  " 

"  Not  very,"  said  John,  his  teeth  chattering  with  cold. 

"  Gracious !  you  '11  freeze.  Sorry  I  was  late."  She  saw  at 
•a  glance  the  low  shoes,  the  blue  cloak,  the  kid  gloves,  the  boy's 
look  of  suffering,  and  at  once  took  possession  of  him. 


WESTWAYS  9 

"  Get  into  the  sleigh.  Oh !  leave  your  check  on  the  trunk  or 
give  it  to  me."  She  was  off  and  away  to  the  trunk  as  he  climbed 
in,  helpless.  She  undid  the  counter  check,  ran  across  to  the 
guard's  house,  was  back  in  a  moment  and  tumbled  in  beside  him. 

"  But,  is  it  safe  ?     My  trunk,  I  mean/'  said  John. 

"  Safe.  No  one  will  steal  it.  Pat  will  come  for  it.  There 
he  is  now.  Tuck  in  the  rugs.  Put  this  shawl  around  you  and 
over  your  head."  She  pinned  it  with  ready  fingers. 

"Now,  you'll  be  real  comfy."  The  chilled  boy  puzzled  and 
amused  her. 

As  he  became  warm,  John  felt  better  in  the  hands  of  this 
easy  despot,  but  was  somewhat  indignant.  "  To  send  a  chit  of 
a  girl  for  him  —  John  Penhallow !  " 

"Now,"  she  cried  to  the  driver,  "be  careful.  Why  did  they 
send  you  ?  " 

Billy,  a  middle-aged  man,  short-legged  and  long  of  body, 
turned  a  big-featured  head  as  he  replied  in  an  odd  boyish 
voice,  "  The  man  was  busy  giving  a  ball  in  the  stable." 

"  A  ball  "—  said  John  — "  in  the  stable  ?  " 

"  Oh !  that  is  funny,"  said  the  girl.  "  A  ball 's  a  big  pill  for 
Lucy,  my  mare.  She 's  sick." 

"  Oh !  I  see."  And  they  were  off  and  away  through  the  wind- 
driven  snow. 

The  girl,  instinctively  aware  of  the  shyness  and  discomfort 
of  her  companion,  set  herself  to  put  him  at  ease.  The  lessening 
snow  still  fell,  but  now  a  brilliant  sun  lighted  the  white  radiance 
of  field  and  forest.  He  was  warmer,  and  the  disconnected  chat 
of  childhood  began. 

"  The  snow  is  early.  Don't  you  love  it  ?  "  said  the  small  maid 
bent  on  making  herself  agreeable. 

"  No,  I  do  not." 

"  But,  oh !  —  see  —  the  sun  is  out.  Now  you  will  like  it.  T 
suppose  you  don't  know  how  to  walk  in  snow-shoes,  or  it  would 
be  lovely  to  go  right  home  across  country." 


10  WESTWAYS 

"  I  never  used  them.     Once  I  read  about  them  in  a  book." 

"  Oh !  you  '11  learn.     I  '11  teach  you." 

John,  used  to  being  considered  and  flattered,  as  he  became  more 
comfortable  began  to  resent  the  way  in  which  the  girl  proposed 
to  instruct  him.  He  was  silent  for  a  time. 

"  Tuck  in  that  robe,"  she  said.     "  How  old  are  you  ?  " 

"  This  last  September,  fifteen.     How  old  are  you  ?  " 

"  Guess." 

"  About  ten,  I  think."     Now  this  was  malicious. 

"  Ten,  indeed !  I  'm  thirteen  and  ten  months  and  —  and 
three  days,"  she  returned,  with  the  accuracy  of  childhood  about 
age.  "  Were  you  at  school  in  Europe  ?  " 

"Yes,  in  France  and  Hungary." 

"  That 's  queer.  In  Hungary  and  France  —  Oh !  then  you 
can  speak  French." 

"  Of  course,"  he  replied.     "  Can't  you  ?  " 

"  A  little,  but  Aunt  Ann  says  I  have  a  good  accent  when  I 
read  to  her  —  we  often  do." 

"  You  should  say  '  without  accent,' "  he  felt  better  after  this 
assertion  of  superior  knowledge.  She  thought  his  manners  bad, 
but,  though  more  amused  than  annoyed,  felt  herself  snubbed 
and  was  silent  for  a  time.  He  was  quick  to  perceive  that  he  had 
better  have  held  his  critical  tongue,  and  said  pleasantly,  "  But 
really  it  don't  matter  —  only  I  was  told  that  in  France." 

She  was  as  quick  to  reply,  "  You  should  n't  say  '  don't  matter/ 
I  say  that  sometimes,  and  then  Uncle  James  comes  down  on 
me." 

"  Why  ?     I  am  really  at  a  loss  — " 

"  Oh  !  you  must  say  '  does  n't ' —  not  '  don't/ ''  She  shook  her 
great  mass  of  hair  and  cried  merrily,  "  I  guess  we  are  about 
even  now,  John  Penhallow." 

Then  they  laughed  gaily,  as  the  boy  said,  "  I  was  n't  very  — 
very  courteous." 

"  Now  that 's  pretty,  John.     Good  gracious,  Billy !  "  she  cried, 


WESTWAYS  11 

punching  the  broad  back  of  the  driver.  "  Are  you  asleep  ? 
You  are  all  over  the  road." 

"  Oh !  I  was  thinkin'  how  Pole,  the  butcher,  sold  the  Squire 
a  horse  that 's  spavined  —  got  it  sent  back  —  funny,  was  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Look  out,"  said  Leila,  "  you  will  upset  us." 

John  looked  the  uneasiness  he  felt,  as  he  said,  "  Do  you  think 
it  is  safe?" 

"  No,  I  don't.     Drive  on,  Billy,  but  do  be  careful." 

They  came  to  the  little  village  of  Westways.  At  intervals 
Billy  communicated  bits  of  village  gossip.  "  Susan  McKnight, 
she 's  going  to  marry  Finney  — " 

"  Bother  Susan,"  cried  Leila.     "  Be  careful." 

John  alarmed  held  on  to  his  seat  as  the  sleigh  rocked  about, 
while  Billy  whipped  up  the  mare. 

"  This  is  Westways,  our  village.  It  is  just  a  row  of  houses. 
Uncle  James  won't  sell  land  on  our  side.  Look  out,  Billy! 
Our  rector  lives  in  that  small  house  by  the  church.  His  name 
is  Mark  Eivers.  You  '11  like  him.  That 's  Mr.  Grace,  the  Bap 
tist  preacher."  She  bade  him  good-day.  "  Stop,  Billy !  " 

He  pulled  up  at  the  sidewalk.  "  Good  afternoon,  Mrs. 
Crocker,"  she  said,  as  the  postmistress  came  out  to  the  sleigh. 
"  Please  mail  this.  Any  letters  for  us  ?  " 

"No,  Leila."  She  glanced  at  the  curly  locks  above  the  thin 
face  and  the  wrapped  up  form  in  the  shawl.  "  Got  a  nice  little 
girl  with  you,  Leila." 

John  indignant  said  nothing.  "  This  is  a  boy  —  my  cousin, 
John  Penhallow,"  returned  Leila. 

"Law!  is  that  so?" 

"  Get  on,"  cried  Leila.     "  Stop  at  Josiah's." 

Here  a  tall,  strongly  built,  very  black  negro  came  out.  "  Fine 
frosty  day,  missy." 

"  Come  up  to  the  house  to-night,  Uncle  Jim  wants  you." 

"I'll  come  — sure." 

"  Now,  get  along,  Billy." 


12  WESTWAYS 

The  black  was  strange  to  the  boy.  He  thought  the  lower  or 
ders  here  disrespectful. 

"  Josiah  's  our  barber/'  said  Leila.  "  He  saved  me  once  from 
a  dreadful  accident.  You  '11  like  him." 

"Will  I?"  thought  John,  but  merely  remarked,  "They  all 
seem  rather  intimate." 

"Why  not?"  said  the  young  Republican.  "Ah!  here's  the 
gate.  I  '11  get  out  and  open  it.  It 's  the  best  gate  to  swing 
on  in  the  whole  place." 

As  she  tossed  the  furs  aside,  John  gasped,  "  To  swing  on  — " 

"  Oh,  yes.  Aunt  Ann  says  I  am  too  old  to  swing  on  gates, 
but  I  do.  It  shuts  with  a  bang.  I  '11  show  you  some  day." 

"  What  is  swinging  on  a  gate  ?  "  said  John,  as  she  jumped 
out  and  stood  in  the  snow  laughing.  Surely  this  was  an  amaz 
ing  kind  of  boy.  "Why,  did  you  never  hear  the  rhyme  about 
it?" 

"  No,"  said  John,  "  I  never  did." 

"  Well,  you  just  get  on  the  gate  when  it 's  wide  open  and  give 
a  push,  and  you  sing  — 

If  I  was  the  President  of  these  United  States, 

I  'd  suck  molasses  candy  and  swing  upon  the  gates. 

There  !  Then  it  shuts  —  bang !  "  With  this  bit  of  child  folk 
lore  she  scampered  away  through  the  snow  and  stood  holding 
the  gate  open  while  Billy  drove  through.  She  reflected  mis 
chievously  that  it  must  have  been  three  years  since  she  had  swung 
on  a  gate. 

John  feeling  warm  and  for  the  first  time  looking  about  him 
with  interest  began  to  notice  the  grandeur  of  the  rigid  snow- 
laden  pines  of  an  untouched  forest  which  stood  in  what  was  now 
brilliant  sunshine. 

As  Leila  got  into  the  sleigh,  she  said,  "  Now,  Billy,  go  slowly 
when  you  make  the  short  turn  at  the  house.  If  you  upset  us,  I 
—  I  '11  kill  you." 


WESTWAYS  13 

"  Yes,  miss.     Guess  I  '11  drive  all  right."     But  the  ways  of 
drivers  are  everywhere  the  same,  and  to  come  to  the  end  of  a 
drive  swiftly  with  crack  of  whip  was  an  unresisted  temptation. 
"Sang  de  Dieu!"  cried  John,  "we  will  be  upset." 
"We  are,"  shouted  Leila.     The  horse  was  down,  the  sleigh 
on  its  side,  and  the  cousins  disappeared  in  a  huge  drift  piled 
high  when  the  road  was  cleared. 


CHAPTEE  II 

JOHN  was  the  first  to  return  to  the  outer  world,  He  stood 
still,  seeing  the  horse  on  its  legs,  Billy  unharnessing,  Leila 
for  an  instant  lost  to  sight.  The  boy  was  scared.  In  his  or 
dered  life  it  was  an  unequalled  experience.  Then  he  saw  a 
merry  face  above  the  drift  and  lying  around  it  a  wide-spread 
glory  of  red  hair  on  the  white  snow.  In  after  years  he  would 
recall  the  beauty  of  the  laughing  young  face  in  its  setting  of 
dark  gold  and  sunlit  silver  snow. 

"Oh,  my!"  she  cried.  "That  Billy!  Don't  stand  there, 
John ;  pull  me  out,  I  'm  stuck." 

He  gave  her  a  hand  and  she  bounded  forth  out  of  the  drift, 
shaking  off  the  dry  snow  as  a  wet  dog  shakes  off  water.  "  What 's 
the  matter,  John?" 

He  was  trying  to  empty  neck,  pocket  and  shoes  of  snow,  and 
was  past  the  limits  of  what  small  endurance  he  had  been  taught. 
"I  shall  catch  my  death  of  cold.  It's  down  my  back  —  it's 
everywhere,  and  I  —  shall  get  —  laryngitis." 

The  brave  blue  eyes  of  the  girl  stared  at  his  dejected  figure. 
She  was  at  heart  a  gentle,  little  woman-child,  endowed  by  na 
ture  with  so  much  of  torn-boy  barbarism  as  was  good  for  her. 
Just  now  a  feeling  of  contemptuous  surprise  overcame  her  kind 
liness  and  her  aunt's  training.  "  There 's  your  bag  on  the 
snow,  and  Billy  will  find  your  cap.  What  does  a  boy  want  with 
a  bag  ?  A  boy  —  and  afraid  of  snow !  "  she  cried.  "  Help  him 
with  that  harness." 

He  made  no  reply,  but  looked  about  for  his  lost  cane.  Then 
the  young  despot  turned  upon  the  driver.  "Wait  till  Uncle 
James  hears ;  he  '11  come  down  on  you." 

14 


WESTWAYS  15 

"  My  lands !  "  said  Billy,  unbuckling  a  trace,  "  I  '11  just  say, 
I  'm  sorry ;  and  the  Squire  he  '11  say,  don't  let  it  happen  again ; 
and  I  '11  say,  yes,  sir." 

"  Yes,  until  Aunt  Ann  hears,"  said  Leila,  and  turned  to 
John.  His  attitude  of  utter  helplessness  touched  her. 

"  Come  into  the  house ;  you  must  be  cold."  She  was  of  a 
sudden  all  tenderness. 

Through  an  outside  winter  doorway-shelter  they  entered  a  hall 
unusually  large  for  an  American's  house  and  warmed  by  two  great 
blazing  hickory  wood-fires.  "  Come  in,"  she  cried,  "  you  '11  be 
all  right.  Sit  down  by  the  fire ;  I  '11  be  down  in  a  minute,  I 
want  to  see  where  Aunt  Ann  has  put  you." 

"  I  am  much  obliged,"  said  John  shivering.  He  was  alone, 
but  wet  as  he  was  the  place  captured  an  ever  active  imagination. 
He  looked  about  him  as  he  stood  before  the  roaring  fire.  To  the 
right  was  an  open  library,  to  the  left  a  drawing-room  rarely 
used,  the  hall  being  by  choice  the  favoured  sitting-room.  The 
dining-room  was  built  out  from  the  back  of  the  hall,  whence  up 
a  broad  stairway  Leila  had  gone.  The  walls  were  hung  with 
Indian  painted  robes,  Sioux  and  Arapahoe  weapons,  old  colonial 
rifles,  and  among  them  portraits  of  three  generations  of  Pen- 
hallows.  Many  older  people  had  found  interesting  the  strange 
adornment  of  the  walls,  where  amid  antlered  trophies  of  game, 
buffalo  heads  and  war-worn  Indian  relics,  could  be  read  some 
thing  of  the  owner's  tastes  and  history.  John  stood  by  the  fire 
fascinated.  Like  many  timid  boys,  he  liked  books  of  adven 
ture  and  to  imagine  himself  heroic  in  situations  of  peril. 

"  It 's  all  right.  Come  up,"  cried  Leila  from  the  stair. 
"  Your  trunk 's  there  now.  There 's  a  fine  fire." 

Forgetful  of  the  cold  ride  and  of  the  snow  down  his  back,  he 
was  standing  before  the  feathered  head-dress  of  a  Sioux  Chief 
and  touching  the  tomahawk  below  it.  He  turned  as  she  spoke. 
"  Those  must  be  scalp-locks  — •  three."  He  saw  the  prairie,  the 
wild  pursuit  —  saw  them  as  she  could  not.  He  went  after  her 


16  WESTWAYS 

upstairs,  the  girl  talking,  the  boy  rapt,  lost  in  far-away  battles 
on  the  plains. 

"  This  is  your  room.  See  what  a  nice  fire.  You  can  dry 
yourself.  Your  trunk  is  here  already."  She  lighted  two 
candles.  "  We  dine  at  half -past  six." 

"  Thank  you ;  I  am  very  much  obliged,"  he  said,  thinking 
what  a  mannerless  girl. 

Leila  closed  the  door  and  stood  still  a  moment.  Then  she 
exclaimed,  "  Well,  I  never !  What  will  Uncle  Jim  say  ?  "  She 
listened  a  moment.  No  one  was  in  the  hall.  Then  she  laughed, 
and  getting  astride  of  the  banister-rail  made  a  wild,  swift  and 
perilous  descent,  alighting  at  the  foot  in  the  hall,  and  readjust 
ing  her  short  skirts  as  she  heard  her  aunt  and  uncle  on  the 
porch.  "  I  was  just  in  time,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Would  n't  I 
have  caught  it !  " 

The  Squire,  as  the  village  called  him,  would  have  applauded 
this  form  of  coasting,  but  Aunt  Ann  had  other  views.  "  Well !  " 
he  said  as  they  came  in,  "  what  have  you  done  with  your  young 
man?" 

Now  he  was  for  Leila  anything  but  a  man  or  manly,  but  she 
was  a  loyal  little  lady  and  unwilling  to  expose  the  guest  to 
Uncle  Jim's  laughter.  "He's  all  right,"  she  said,  "but  Billy 
upset  the  sleigh."  She  was  longing  to  tell  about  that  ball  in 
the  stable,  but  refrained. 

"  So  Billy  upset  you ;  and  John,  where  is  he  ?  " 

"He's  upstairs  getting  dried." 

"  It  is  rather  a  rough  welcome,"  remarked  her  aunt. 

"  He  lost  his  cap  and  his  cane,"  said  Leila. 

"  His  cane !  "  exclaimed  her  uncle,  "  his  cane !  " 

"  I  must  see  him,"  said  his  wife. 

"Better  let  him  alone,  Ann."  But  as  usual  she  took  her 
own  way  and  went  upstairs.  She  came  down  in  a  few  minutes, 
rinding  her  husband  standing  before  the  fire  —  an  erect,  sol 
dierly  figure  close  to  forty  years  of  age. 


WESTWAYS  17 

"Well,  Ann?"  he  queried. 

"  A  very  nice  lad,  with  such  good  manners,  James." 

"  Billy  found  his  cap,"  said  Leila,  "  but  he  could  n't  get  the 
sleigh  set  up  until  the  stable  men  came." 

"  And  that  cane,"  laughed  Penhallow.  "  Was  the  boy  amused 
or  —  or  scared  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  which  was  hardly  true,  but  the  chivalry  of 
childhood  forbade  tale-telling  and  he  learned  very  little.  "  He 
was  rather  tired  and  cold,  so  I  made  him  go  to  his  room  and 
rest." 

"  Poor  child !  "  said  Aunt  Ann. 

James  Penhallow  looked  at  Leila.  Some  manner  of  signals 
were  interchanged.  "  I  saw  Billy  digging  in  the  big  drift,"  he 
said.  "  I  trust  he  found  the  young  gentleman's  cane."  Some 
pitying,  dim  comprehension  of  the  delicately  nurtured  lad  had 
brought  to  the  social  surface  the  kindliness  of  the  girl  and  she 
said  no  more. 

"It  is  time  to  dress  for  dinner,"  said  Ann.  Away  from  the 
usages  of  the  city  she  had  wisely  insisted  on  keeping  up  the 
social  forms  which  the  Squire  would  at  times  have  been  glad 
to  disregard.  For  a  moment  Ann  Penhallow  lingered.  "  We 
must  try  to  make  him  feel  at  home,  James." 

"  Of  course,  my  dear.  I  can  imagine  how  Susan  Penhallow 
would  have  educated  a  boy,  and  now  I  know  quite  too  well 
what  we  shall  have  to  undo  —  and  —  do." 

"  You  won't,  oh !  you  will  not  be  too  hard  on  him." 

"I  —  no,  my  dear  —  but  —  I  suspect  his  American  education 
has  begun  already." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Ask  Leila  —  and  Billy.  But  that  can  wait."  They  sep 
arated. 

While  his  elders  were  thus  briefly  discussing  this  new  addition 
to  the  responsibilities  of  their  busy  lives,  the  subject  of  their 
talk  had  been  warmed  into  comfortable  repossession  of  his  self- 


18  WESTWAYS 

esteem.  He  set  in  order  his  elaborate  silver  toilet  things  marked 
with  the  Penhallow  crest,  saw  in  the  glass  that  his  dress  and  un- 
boylike  length  of  curly  hair  were  as  he  had  been  taught  they 
should  be;  then  he  looked  at  his  watch  and  went  slowly  down 
stairs. 

"  Halloa !  John/'  he  heard  as  he  reached  the  last  turn  of  the 
stairs.  "  Most  glad  to  see  you.  You  are  very  welcome  to  your 
new  home/'  The  man  who  hailed  him  was  six  feet  two  inches, 
deep-chested,  erect  —  the  West  Point  figure;  the  face  clean 
shaven,  ruddy,  hazel-eyed,  was  radiant  with  the  honest  feeling 
of  desire  to  put  this  childlike  boy  at  ease. 

The  little  gentleman  needed  no  aid  and  replied,  "  My  dear 
uncle,  I  cannot  sufficiently  thank  you."  A  little  bow  went  with 
his  words,  and  he  placidly  accepted  his  aunt's  embrace,  while 
the  hearty  Miss  Leila  looked  on  in  silence.  The  boy's  black 
suit,  the  short  jacket,  the  neat  black  tie,  made  the  paleness  of  his 
thin  large-featured  face  too  obvious.  Then  Leila  took  note  of 
the  court  shoes  and  silk  socks,  and  looked  at  Uncle  Jim  to  see 
what  he  thought.  The  Squire  reserved  what  criticism  he  may 
have  had  and  asked  cheerfully  about  the  journey,  Aunt  Ann  aid 
ing  him  with  eager  will  to  make  the  boy  feel  at  home.  He  was 
quite  enough  at  home.  It  was  all  agreeable,  these  handsome  re 
lations  and  the  other  Penhallows  on  the  walls.  He  had  been 
taught  that  which  is  good  or  ill  as  men  use  it,  pride  of  race,  and 
in  his  capacity  to  be  impressed  by  his  surroundings  was  years 
older  than  Leila.  He  felt  sure  that  he  would  like  it  here  at 
Grey  Pine,  but  was  surprised  to  see  no  butler  and  to  be  waited 
on  at  dinner  by  two  neat  little  maids. 

When  Ann  Penhallow  asked  him  about  his  schools  and  his 
life  in  Europe,  he  became  critical,  and  conversed  about  picture- 
galleries  and  foreign  life  with  no  lack  of  accuracy,  whilo  the 
Squire  listened  smiling  and  Leila  sat  dumb  with  astonishment 
as  the  dinner  went  on.  He  ate  little  and  kept  in  mind  the  end 
less  lessons  in  regard  to  what  he  should  or  should  not  eat 


WESTWAYS  19 

Meanwhile,  he  silently  approved  of  the  old  silver  and  these  well- 
bred  kinsfolk,  with  a  reserve  of  doubt  concerning  his  silent 
cousin. 

His  uncle  had  at  last  his  one  glass  of  Madeira,  and  as  they 
rose  his  aunt  said,  "You  may  be  tired,  John;  you  ought  to  go 
to  bed  early." 

"  It  is  not  yet  time,"  he  said.  "  I  always  retire  at  ten 
o'clock." 

"  He  '  retires/  "  murmured  his  uncle.  "  Come,  Ann,  we  will 
leave  Leila  to  make  friends  with  the  new  cousin.  Try  John  at 
checkers,  Leila.  She  defeats  me  easily." 

"I  —  never  saw  any  one  could  beat  me  at  jeu  des  dames/'  said 
John.  It  was  a  fine  chance  to  get  even  with  Leila  for  the  hu 
miliating  adventures  of  a  not  very  flattering  day. 

"Well,  take  care,"  said  the  Squire,  not  altogether  amused. 
"  Come,  Ann."  Entering  the  large  library  room  he  closed  the 
door,  drew  over  it  a  curtain,  filled  his  pipe  but  did  not  light  it, 
and  sat  down  at  the  fire  beside  his  wife. 

"  Well,  James,"  she  said,  "  did  you  ever  see  a  better  mannered 
lad,  and  so  intelligent  ?  " 

"  Never  —  nor  any  lad  who  has  as  good  an  opinion  of  his  small 
self.  He  is  too  young  for  his  years,  and  in  some  ways  too  old. 
I  looked  him  over  a  bit.  He  is  a  mere  scaffolding,  a  sickly-look 
ing  chap.  He  eats  too  little.  I  heard  him  remark  to  you  that 
potatoes  disagreed  with  him  and  that  he  never  ate  apples." 

"  But,  James,  what  shall  we  do  with  him  ?  It  is  a  new  and 
a  difficult  responsibility." 

"  Do  with  him  ?  Oh !  make  a  man  of  him.  Give  him  and 
Leila  a  week's  holiday.  Turn  him  loose  with  that  fine  torn-boy. 
Then  he  must  go  to  school  to  Mark  Rivers  with  Leila  and  those 
two  young  village  imps,  the  doctor's  boy  and  Grace's,  that  pre 
cious  young  Baptist.  They  will  do  him  good.  When  Mark  re 
ports,  we  shall  see  further.  That  is  all  my  present  wisdom, 
Ann.  Has  the  Tribune  come  ?  Oh !  I  see  —  it  is  on  the  table." 


20  WESTWAYS 

Ann  was  still  in  some  doubt  and  returned  to  the  boy.  "  And 
where  do  I  come  in?" 

"  Feed  the  young  animal  and  get  the  tailor  in  the  village  to 
make  him  some  warm  rough  clothes,  and  get  him  boots  for  the 
snow  —  and  thick  gloves  —  and  a  warm  ready-made  overcoat." 

"  I  will.  But,  James,  Leila  will  half  kill  him.  He  is  so  thin 
and  pale.  He  looks  hardly  older  than  she  does."  Then  Ann 
rose,  saying,  "  Well,  we  shall  see,  I  suppose  you  are  right,"  and 
after  some  talk  about  the  iron-works  left  him  to  his  pipe. 

When  she  returned  to  the  hall,  the  two  children  were  talking 
of  Europe  —  or  rather  I^eila  was  listening.  "  Well,"  said  the 
little  lady,  Ann  Penhallow,  "  how  did  the  game  go,  John  ?  " 

"  I  am  rather  out  of  practice,"  said  John.  Leila  said  nothing. 
He  had  been  shamefully  worsted.  "  I  think  I  shall  go  to  bed," 
he  remarked,  looking  at  his  watch. 

"  I  would,"  she  said.  "  There  are  the  candles.  There  is  a 
bathroom  next  to  you." 

He  was  tired  and  disgusted,  but  slept  soundly.  When  at 
breakfast  he  said  that  he  was  not  allowed  tea  or  coffee,  he  was 
fed  with  milk,  to  which  with  hot  bread  and  new  acquaintance 
with  griddle  cakes  he  took  kindly.  After  breakfast  he  was 
driven  to  the  village  with  his  aunt  and  equipped  with  a  rough 
ready-made  overcoat  and  high  boots.  He  found  the  dress  com 
fortable,  but  not  to  his  taste. 

When  he  came  back,  the  Squire  and  Leila  had  disappeared  and 
he  was  left  to  his  own  devices.  He  was  advised  by  his  aunt  to 
walk  about  and  see  the  stables  and  the  horses.  That  any  boy 
should  not  want  to  see  the  horses  was  inconceivable  in  this 
household.  He  did  go  out  and  walk  on  the  porch,  but  soon  went 
in  chilled  and  sat  down  to  lose  himself  in  a  book  of  polar 
travel.  He  liked  history,  travel  and  biographies  of  soldiers, 
fearfully  desiring  to  have  his  own  courage  tested  —  a  more  com 
mon  boy-wish  than  might  be  supposed.  He  thought  of  it  as  he 


WESTWAYS  21 

laid  down  the  book  and  began  to  inspect  again  the  painted  buffalo 
skins  on  the  wall,  letting  his  imagination  wander  when  once 
more  he  touched  a  Sioux  tomahawk  with  its  grim  adornment  of 
scalp-locks.  He  was  far  away  when  he  heard  his  aunt  say, 
"  You  were  not  out  long,  John.  Did  they  show  you  the  horses  ?  " 

Shy  and  reserved  in  novel  surroundings,  he  was  rather  too 
much  at  his  ease  amid  socially  familiar  things,  and  now  said 
lightly  that  he  had  not  seen  the  stables.  "  Eeally,  Aunt  Ann,  I 
prefer  to  read  or  to  look  at  these  interesting  Indian  relics." 

"Ask  your  uncle  about  them,"  she  said,  "but  you  will  find 
out  that  horses  are  important  in  this  household."  She  left  him 
with  the  conviction  that  James  Penhallow  was,  on  the  whole, 
right  as  to  the  educational  needs  of  this  lad. 

After  lunch  his  uncle  said,  "  Leila  will  show  you  about  the 
place.  You  will  want  to  see  the  horses,  of  course,  and  the  dogs." 

"  And  my  guinea  pigs,"  added  Leila. 

He  took  no  interest  in  either,  and  the  dogs  somewhat  alarmed 
him.  His  cousin,  a  little  discouraged,  led  him  away  into  the 
woods  where  the  ancient  pines  stood  snow  laden  far  apart  with 
no  intrusion  between  them  of  low  shrubbery.  Leila  was  silent, 
half  aware  that  he  was  hard  to  entertain,  and  then  mischievously 
wilful  to  give  this  indifferent  cousin  a  lesson.  Presently  he 
stood  still,  looking  up  at  the  towering  cones  of  the  motionless 
pines. 

"  How  stately  they  are  —  how  like  old  Vikings ! "  he  said. 
His  imagination  was  the  oldest  mental  characteristic  of  this 
over-guarded,  repressed  boyhood. 

Leila  turned,  surprised.  This  was  beyond  her  appreciative 
capacity.  "  Once  I  heard  Uncle  Jim  say  something  like  that. 
He  ?s  queer  about  trees.  He  talks  to  them  sometimes  just  like 
that.  There  ?s  the  biggest  pine  over  there  —  I  '11  show  it  to  you. 
Why !  he  will  stop  and  pat  it  and  say,  '  How  are  you  ? ' —  Is  n't 
it  funny?" 


22  WESTWAYS 

"  No,  it  is  n't  funny  ^t  all.     It  'a  —  it 's  beautiful !  " 

"  You  must  be  like  him,  John." 

"I  —  like  him !  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  He  was  pleased.  The 
Indian  horseman  of  the  plains  who  could  talk  to  the  big  tree 
began  to  be  felt  by  the  boy  as  somehow  nearer. 

"Let's  play  Indian,"  said  Leila.  "I'll  show  you."  She 
was  merry,  intent  on  mischief. 

"  Oh !  whatever  you  like."     He  was  uninterested. 

Leila  said,  "You  stand  behind  this  tree,  I  will  stand  behind 
that  one."  She  took  for  herself  the  larger  shelter.  "  Then  you, 
each  of  us,  get  ready  this  way  a  pile  of  snowballs.  I  say,  Make 
ready !  Fire !  and  we  snowball  one  another  like  everything.  The 
first  Indian  that's  hit,  he  falls  down  dead.  Then  the  other 
rushes  at  him  and  scalps  him." 

"  But,"  said  John,  "  how  can  he  ?  " 

"  Oh !  he  just  gives  your  hair  a  pull  and  makes  believe." 

"I  see." 

"  Then  we  play  it  five  times,  and  each  scalp  counts  one.  Now, 
isn't  that  real  jolly?" 

John  had  his  doubts  as  to  this,  but  he  took  his  place  and  made 
some  snowballs  clumsily. 

"  Make  ready !  Fire  !  "  cried  Leila.  The  snowballs  flew.  At 
last,  the  girl  seeing  how  wildly  he  threw  exposed  herself.  A 
better  shot  took  her  full  in  the  face.  Laughing  gaily,  she 
dropped,  "  I  'm  dead." 

The  game  pleased  him  with  its  unlooked-for  good  luck.  "  Now 
don't  stand  there  like  a  ninny  —  scalp  me,"  she  cried. 

He  ran  to  her  side  and  knelt  down.  The  widespread  hair 
affected  him  curiously.  He  touched  it  daintily,  let  it  fall,  and 
rose.  "To  pull  at  a  girl's  hair!  I  couldn't  do  it." 

Leila  laughed.     "  A  good  pull,  that  ?s  how  to  scalp." 

"I  couldn't,"  said  John. 

"  Well,  you  are  a  queer  sort  of  Indian! "  She  was  less  merci 
ful,  but  in  the  end,  to  her  surprise,  he  had  three  scalps.  "  Uncle 


WESTWAYS  23 

Jim  will  laugh  when  I  tell  him/'  she  said.  "  Shall  we  go 
home?" 

"  No,  I  want  to  see  Uncle  Jim's  big  tree." 

"  Oh !  he  's  only  Uncle  Jim  to  me.  Aunt  don't  like  it.  He 
will  tell  you  some  day  to  call  him  Uncle  Jim.  He  says  I  got 
that  as  brevet  rank  the  day  my  mare  refused  the  barnyard  fence 
and  pitched  me  off.  I  just  got  on  again  and  made  her  take  it! 
That 's  why  he  's  Uncle  Jim." 

John  became  thoughtful  about  that  brevet  privilege  of  a  re 
mote  future.  He  had,  however,  persistent  ways.  "  I  want  to  see 
the  big  pine,  Leila." 

"  Oh !  come  on  then.  It 's  a  long  way.  We  must  cut  across." 
He  followed  her  remorselessly  swift  feet  through  the  leafless 
bushes  and  drifts  until  they  came  upon  a  giant  pine  in  a  wide 
space  cleared  to  give  the  veteran  royal  solitude.  "  That 's  him," 
cried  Leila,  and  carelessly  cast  herself  down  on  the  snow. 

The  boy  stood  still  in  wonder.  Something  about  the  tree  dis 
turbed  him  emotionally.  With  hands  clasped  behind  his  back, 
he  stared  up  at  its  towering  heights.  He  was  silent. 

"  What 's  the  matter  ?  What  do  you  see  ?  "  She  was  never 
long  silent.  He  was  searching  for  a  word. 

"  It 's  solemn.  I  like  it."  He  moved  forward  and  patted 
the  huge  bole  with  a  feeling  of  reverence  and  affection.  "  I  wish 
he  could  speak  to  us.  How  are  you,  old  fellow  ?  " 

Leila  watched  him.  As  yet  she  had  no  least  comprehension 
of  this  sense  of  being  kindred  to  nature.  It  is  rare  in  youth. 
As  he  spoke,  a  little  breeze  stirred  the  old  fellow's  topmost 
crest  and  a  light  downfall  of  snow  fell  on  the  pair.  Leila 
laughed,  but  the  boy  cried,  "  There !  he  has  answered.  We  are 
friends." 

"  Now,  if  that  is  n't  Uncle  Jim  all  over.  He  just  does  make 
me  laugh." 

John  shook  off  the  snow.  "Let's  go  home,"  he  said.  He 
was  warm  and  red  with  the  exercise,  and  in  high  good-humour 


24  WESTWAYS 

over  his  success.  "  Did  you  never  read  a  poem  called  '  The 
Talking  Oak '  ?  I  had  a  tutor  used  to  read  it  to  me." 

"  Now,  the  idea  of  a  tree  talking !  "  she  said.  "  No,  I  never 
heard  of  it.  Come  along,  we  '11  he  late.  That 's  funny  about 
a  tree  talking.  Can  you  run  ?  " 

They  ran,  but  not  far,  because  deep  snow  makes  running  hard. 
It  was  after  dark  when  they  tramped  on  to  the  back  porch. 
John's  experience  taught  him  to  expect  blame  for  being  out  late. 
No  one  asked  a  question  or  made  a  remark.  He  was  ignored, 
to  his  amazement.  Whether,  as  he  soon  learned,  he  was  in  or 
out,  wet  or  dry,  seemed  to  be  of  no  moment  to  any  one,  provided 
he  was  punctual  at  meal-times.  It  was  at  first  hard  to  realize 
the  reasonable  freedom  suddenly  in  his  possession.  The  ap 
pearance  of  complete  want  of  interest  in  his  health  and  what  he 
did  was  as  useful  a  moral  tonic  as  was  for  the  body  the  educa 
tional  out-of-doors'  society  of  the  fearless  girl,  his  aunt's  niece 
whom  he  was  told  to  consider  as  his  cousin.  To  his  surprise, 
he  was  free  to  come  and  go,  and  what  he  or  Leila  did  in  the  woods 
or  in  the  stables  no  one  inquired.  Aunt  Ann  uneasy  would 
have  known  all  about  them,  but  the  Squire  urged,  that  for  a 
time,  "let  alone"  was  the  better  policy.  This  freedom  was  so 
unusual,  so  unreservedly  complete,  as  to  rejoice  Leila,  who  was 
very  ready  to  use  the  liberty  it  gave.  In  a  week  the  rector's 
school  would  shut  them  up  for  half  of  the  day  of  sunlit  snow. 
Meanwhile,  John  wondered  with  interest  every  morning  where 
next  those  thin  active  young  legs  would  lead  him. 

The  dogs  he  soon  took  to,  when  Leila's  whistle  called  them, — 
a  wild  troop,  never  allowed  beyond  the  porch  or  in  the  house. 
For  some  occult  reason  Mrs.  Ann  disliked  dogs  and  liked  cats, 
which  roamed  the  house  at  will  and  were  at  deadly  feud  with 
the  stable  canines.  No  rough  weather  ever  disturbed  Leila's 
out-of-door  habits,  but  when  for  two  days  a  lazy  rain  fell  and 
froze  on  the  snow,  John  declared  that  he  could  not  venture  to 


WESTWAYS  25 

get  wet  with  his  tendency  to  tonsilitis.  As  Leila  refused  in 
door  society  and  he  did  not  like  to  be  left  alone,  he  missed  the 
gay  and  gallant  little  lady,  and  still  no  one  questioned  him. 
On  the  third  day  at  breakfast  Leila  was  wildly  excited.  The 
smooth  ice-mailed  snow  shone  brilliant  in  the  sunshine. 

"  Coasting  weather,  Uncle  Jim,"  Leila  said. 

"  First  class,"  said  her  uncle.  "  Get  off  before  the  sun  melts 
the  crust." 

"  Do  be  careful,  dear,"  said  Ann  Penhallow,  "  and  do  not  try 
the  farm  hill." 

"Yes,  aunt."  The  Squire  exchanged  signal  glances  with 
Leila  over  the  teacup  he  was  lifting.  "  Come,  John,"  she  said. 
"No  dogs  to-day.  It's  just  perfect.  Here's  your  sled." 

John  had  seen  coasting  in  Germany  and  had  been  strictly 
forbidden  so  perilous  an  amusement.  As  they  walked  over  the 
crackling  ice-cover  of  the  snow,  he  said,  "  Why  do  you  want  to 
sled,  Leila?  I  consider  it  extremely  dangerous.  I  saw  two 
persons  hurt  when  we  were  in  Switzerland."  His  imagination 
was  predicting  all  manner  of  disaster,  but  he  had  the  moral 
courage  which  makes  hypocrisy  impossible.  From  the  hill  crest 
John  looked  down  the  long  silvery  slope  and  did  not  like  it. 
"It's  just  a  foolish  risk.  Do  you  mean  to  slide  down  to  that 
brook?" 

"  Slide !  We  coast,  we  don't  slide.  I  think  you  had  better 
go  back  and  tell  Uncle  Jim  you  were  afraid." 

He  was  furious.  "  I  tell  you  this,  Miss  Grey  —  I  am  afraid 
—  I  have  been  told  —  well,  never  mind  —  that  ^- well  —  I 
won't  say  I  'm  not  afraid  —  but  I  'm  more  afraid  of  Uncle 
James  than  —  than  —  of  death." 

She  stood  still  a  moment  as  she  faced  him,  the  two  pair  of 
blue  eyes  meeting.  He  was  very  youthful  for  his  years  and  was 
near  the  possibility  of  the  tears  of  anger,  and,  too,  the  virile 
qualities  of  his  race  were  protesting  forces  in  the  background 


26  WESTWAYS 

of  undeveloped  character.  The  sweet  girl  face  grew  red  and 
kinder.  "I  was  mean,  John  Penhallow.  I  am  sorry  I  was 
rode.* 

"  No  —  no,"  he  exclaimed,  "  it  was  I  who  was  —  was  —  ill- 
mannered.  I  —  mean  to  coast  if  I  die." 

"  Die,"  she  laughed  gaily.     "  Let  me  go  first." 

"  Go  ahead  then."  She  was  astride  of  the  sled  and  away 
down  the  long  descent,  while  he  watched  her  swift  flight.  He  set 
his  teeth  and  was  off  after  her.  A  thrill  of  pleasure  possessed 
him,  the  joy  of  swift  movement.  Near  the  foot  was  an  abrupt 
fall  to  a  frozen  brook  and  then  a  sharp  ascent.  He  rolled  over  at 
Leila's  feet  seeing  a  firmament  of  stars  and  rose  bewildered. 

"  Busted  ?  "  cried  Leila,  who  picked  up  the  slang  of  the  vil 
lage  boys  to  her  aunt's  disgust. 

"  I  am  not  what  you  call  busted,"  said  John,  "  but  I  consider 
it  most  disagreeable."  Without  a  word  more  he  left  her,  set  out 
up  the  hill  and  coasted  again.  He  upset  half-way  down,  rolled 
over,  and  got  on  again  laughing.  This  time  somehow  he  got 
over  the  brook  and  turned  crossly  on  Leila  with,  "  I  hope  now 
you  are  satisfied,  Miss  Grey." 

"  You  ?11  do,  I  guess,"  said  she.  "  I  just  wondered  if  you 
would  back  out,  John.  Let's  try  the  other  hills."  He  went 
after  her  vexed  at  her  way  of  ordering  him  about,  and  not  dis 
pleased  with  John  Penhallow  and  his  new  experience  in  snatching 
from  danger  a  fearful  joy. 


CHAPTEE  III 

THE  difficult  lessons  on  the  use  of  snow-shoes  took  up  day 
after  day,  until  weary  but  at  last  eager  he  followed  her  tire 
less  little  figure  far  into  the  more  remote  woods.     "  What  ?s 
that?"  he  said. 

"  I  wanted  you  to  see  it,  John."  It  was  an  old  log  cabin. 
"  That  ?s  where  the  first  James  Penhallow  lived.  Uncle  Jim 
keeps  it  from  tumbling  to  pieces,  but  it 's  no  use  to  anybody." 

"  The  first  Penhallow,"  said  John.      "  It  must  be  very  old." 

"  Oh !  I  suppose  so  —  I  don't  know  —  ask  Uncle  Jim.  They 
say  the  Indians  attacked  it  once  —  that  first  James  Penhallow 
and  his  wife  fought  them  till  help  came.  I  thought  you  would 
like  to  see  it." 

He  went  in,  kicking  off  his  snow-shoes.  She  was  getting 
used  to  his  silences,  and  now  with  some  surprise  at  his  evident 
interest  followed  him.  He  walked  about  making  brief  re 
marks  or  eagerly  asking  questions. 

"  They  must  have  had  loop-holes  to  shoot.  Did  they  kill  any 
Indians?" 

"Yes,  five.  They  are  buried  behind  the  cabin.  Uncle  Jim 
set  a  stone  to  mark  the  place." 

He  made  no  reply.  His  thoughts  were  far  away  in  time, 
realizing  the  beleaguered  cabin,  the  night  of  fear,  the  flashing 
rifles  of  his  ancestors.  The  fear  —  would  he  have  been  afraid  ? 

"  When  I  was  little,  I  was  afraid  to  come  here  alone,"  said 
the  girl. 

"  I  should  like  to  come  here  at  night,"  he  returned. 

"Why?  I  wouldn't.  Oh!  not  at  night.  I  don't  see  what 
fun  there  would  be  in  that." 

27 


28  WESTWAYS 

"Then  I  would  know—" 

"  Know  what,  John  ?     What  would  you  know  ?  " 

"  Oh !  no  matter."  He  had  a  deep  desire  to  learn  if  he  would 
be  afraid.  "  Some  day/'  he  added,  "  I  will  tell  you.  Let 's  go 
home." 

"Are  you  tired?" 

"  I  'm  half  dead,"  he  laughed  as  he  slipped  on  his  snow- 
shoes. 

A  long  and  heavy  rain  cleared  away  the  snow,  and  the  more 
usual  softness  of  the  end  of  November  set  in.  Their  holiday 
sports  were  over  for  a  time,  to  John's  relief.  On  a  Monday 
he  went  through  the  woods  with  Leila  to  the  rectory.  Mark 
Rivers,  who  had  only  seen  John  twice,  made  him  welcome.  The 
tall,  thin,  pale  man,  with  the  quiet  smile  and  attentive  grey 
eyes,  made  a  ready  capture  of  the  boy.  There  were  only  two 
other  scholars,  the  sons  of  the  doctor  and  the  Baptist  preacher, 
lads  of  sixteen,  not  very  mannerly,  rather  rough  country  boys, 
who  nudged  one  another  and  regarded  John  with  amused  inter 
est.  In  two  or  three  days  John  knew  that  he  was  in  the  care  of 
an  unusually  scholarly  man,  who  became  at  once  his  friend 
and  treated  the  lazy  village  boys  and  him  with  considerate 
kindliness.  John  liked  it.  To  his  surprise,  no  questions  were 
asked  at  home  about  the  school,  and  the  afternoons  were  often 
free  for  lonely  walks,  when  Leila  went  away  on  her  mare  and 
John  was  at  liberty  to  read  or  to  do  as  best  pleased  him.  At 
times  Leila  bored  him,  and  although  with  his  well-taught  cour 
teous  ways  he  was  careful  not  to  show  impatience,  he  had  the 
imaginative  boy's  capacity  to  enjoy  being  alone  and  a  long  re 
pressed  curiosity  which  now  found  indulgence  among  people 
who  liked  to  answer  questions  and  were  pleased  when  he  asked 
them.  Very  often,  as  he  came  into  easier  relations  with  his 
aunt,  he  was  told  to  take  some  query  she  could  not  answer  to 
Uncle  James  or  the  rector.  A  rather  sensitive  lad,  he  soon  be 
came  aware  that  his  uncle  appeared  to  take  no  great  interest  in 


WESTWAYS  29 

him,  and,  too,  the  boy's  long  cultivated  though  lessening  reserve 
kept  them  apart.  Meanwhile,  Ann  watched  with  pleasure  his 
gain  in  independence,  in  looks  and  in  appetite.  While  James 
Penhallow  after  his  game  of  whist  at  night  growled  in  his  den 
over  the  bitter  politics  of  the  day,  North  and  South,  his  wife 
read  aloud  to  the  children  by  the  fireside  in  her  own  small  sit 
ting-room  or  answered  as  best  she  could  John's  questions,  con 
fessing  ignorance  at  times  or  turning  to  books  of  reference.  It 
was  not  always  easy  to  satisfy  this  restless  young  mind  in  a  fast 
developing  body.  "Were  guinea  pigs  really  pigs?  What  was 
the  hematite  iron-ore  his  uncle  used  at  the  works  ?  "  Once  he 
was  surprised.  He  asked  one  evening,  "  What  was  the  Missouri 
Compromise  ?  "  He  had  read  so  much  about  it  in  the  papers. 
"  Has  n't  it  something  to  do  with  slavery  ?  Aunt  Ann,  it 
must  seem  strange  to  own  a  man."  His  eager  young  ears  had 
heard  rather  ignorant  talk  of  it  from  his  mother's  English 
friends. 

His  aunt  said  quietly,  "  My  people  in  Maryland  own  slaves, 
John.  It  is  not  a  matter  for  a  child  to  discuss.  The  abolition 
ists  at  the  North  are  making  trouble.  It  is  a  subject  —  we  — 
I  do  not  care  to  talk  about." 

"  But  what  is  an  abolitionist,  aunt  ?  "  he  urged. 

She  laughed  and  said  gaily,  "I  will  answer  no  more  conun 
drums  ;  ask  your  uncle." 

Leila  who  took  no  interest  in  politics  fidgeted  until  she  got 
her  chance  when  Mrs.  Ann  would  not  answer  John.  "  I  want 
to  hear  about  that  talking  oak,  John." 

She  was  quicker  than  he  to  observe  her  aunt's  annoyance,  and 
Ann,  glad  to  be  let  off  easily,  found  the  needed  book,  and  for 
a  time  they  fell  under  the  charm  of  Tennyson,  and  then  earlier 
than  usual  were  sent  to  bed. 

The  days  ran  on  into  weeks  of  school,  and  now  there  were  snow- 
shoe  tramps  or  sleigh  rides  to  see  some  big  piece  of  casting  at 
the  forge,  where  persistently-curious  John  did  learn  from  some 


30  WESTWAYS 

one  what  hematite  was.  The  life  became  to  him  steadily  more 
and  more  pleasant  as  he  shed  with  ease  the  habits  of  an  over- 
regulated  life,  and  living  wholesome  days  prospered  in  body  and 
mind. 

Christmas  was  a  disappointment  to  Leila  and  to  him.  There 
was  an  outbreak  of  measles  at  Westways  and  there  would  be  no 
carols,  nor  children  gathered  at  Grey  Pine.  Ann's  usual  bounty 
of  toys  was  sent  to  the  village.  John's  present  from  his  uncle 
was  a  pair  of  skates,  and  then  Leila  saw  a  delightful  chance  to 
add  another  branch  of  education.  Next  morning,  for  this  was 
holiday-week,  she  asked  if  he  would  like  to  learn  to  skate.  They 
had  gone  early  to  the  cabin  and  were  lazily  enjoying  a  rest  after 
a  snow-shoe  tramp.  He  replied,  in  an  absent  way,  "  I  suppose  I 
may  as  well  learn.  How  many  Indians  were  there  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     Who  cares  now  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  I  never  saw  such  a  boy.  You  can't  ride  and  you  can't 
skate.  You  are  just  good  for  nothing.  You  're  just  fit  to  be 
sold  at  a  rummage-sale." 

He  was  less  easily  vexed  than  made  curious.  "What's  a 
rummage-sale  ?  " 

"  Oh !  we  had  one  two  years  ago.  Once  in  a  while  Aunt  Ann 
says  there  must  be  one,  so  she  gathers  up  all  the  trash  and 
Uncle  Jim's  old  clothes  (he  hates  that),  and  the  village  people 
they  buy  things.  And  Mr.  Eivers  sells  the  things  at  auction, 
you  know  —  and  oh,  my !  he  was  funny." 

"  So  they  sell  what  no  one  wants.  Then  why  does  any  one 
buy?" 

"  I  'm  sure,  I  don't  know." 

"I  wonder  what  I  would  fetch,  Leila?" 

"  Not  much,"  she  said. 

"  Maybe  you  're  right."  He  had  one  of  the  brief  boy-moods 
of  self-abasement. 

Leila  changed  quickly.     "  I  ?11  bid  for  you,"  she  said  coyly. 


WESTWAYS  31 

He  laughed  and  looked  up,  surprised  at  this  earliest  indication 
of  the  feminine.     "  What  would  you  give  ?  "  he  asked. 
"Well,  about  twenty-five  cents." 

He  laughed.  "  I  may  improve,  Leila,  and  the  price  go  up. 
"  Let  us  go  and  learn  to  skate  —  you  must  teach  me." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Leila,  "  but  you  will  soon  learn.  It 's  hard 
at  first." 

At  lunch,  on  Christmas  day,  John  had  thanked  his  uncle  for 
the  skates  in  the  formal  way  which  Ann  liked  and  James  Pen- 
hallow  did  not.  He  said,  "  I  am  very  greatly  obliged  for  the 
skates.  They  appear  to  me  excellent." 

"  What  a  confoundedly  civil  young  gentleman,"  thought  Pen- 
hallow.  "  I  have  been  thinking  you  must  learn  to  skate.  The 
pond  has  been  swept  clear  of  snow." 

"  Thank  you,"  returned  the  boy,  with  a  grin  which  his  uncle 
thought  odd. 

"  Leila  will  teach  you." 

John  was  silent,  regarding  his  uncle  with  never  dying  in 
terest,  the  soldier  of  Indian  battles,  the  perfect  rider  and  good 
shot,  adored  in  the  stables  and  loved,  as  John  was  learning,  in 
all  the  country  side.  John  was  in  the  grip  of  a  boy's  admira 
tion  for  a  realized  ideal  —  the  worship,  by  the  timid,  of  courage. 
Of  the  few  things  he  did  well,  he  thought  little;  and  an  in 
valid's  fears  had  discouraged  rough  games  until  he  had  become 
like  a  timorous  girl.  He  had  much  dread  of  horses,  and  was 
alarmingly  sure  that  he  would  some  day  be  made  to  ride.  Once 
in  Paris  he  had  tried,  had  had  a  harmless  accident  and,  will 
ingly  yielding  to  his  mother's  fears,  had  tried  no  more. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  Leila,  with  her  long  wake  of  flying 
hair,  burst  into  the  Squire's  den.  "  What  the  deuce  is  the  mat 
ter  ?  "  asked  Penhallow. 

"  Oh !  Uncle  Jim,  he  can  skate  like  —  like  a  witch.  I  could  n't 
keep  near  him.  He  skated  an  '  L '  for  my  name.  Uncle  Jim, 
he  's  a  fraud." 


32  WESTWAYS 

Penhallow  knew  now  why  the  boy  had  grinned  at  him.  "  I 
think,  Leila,  he  will  do.  Where  did  he  learn  to  skate  ?  " 

"  At  Vevey,  he  says,  on  the  Lake." 

"Yes,  of  Geneva." 

"  Tom  McGregor  was  there  and  Bob  Grace.  We  played  tag. 
John  knows  a  way  to  play  tag  on  skates.  You  must  chalk  your 
right  hand  and  you  must  mark  with  it  the  other  fellow's  right 
shoulder.  It  must  be  jolly.  We  had  no  chalk,  but  we  are  to 
play  it  to-morrow.  Is  n't  it  interesting,  Uncle  John  ?  " 

Penhallow  laughed.  "  Interesting,  my  dear  ?  Oh !  your  aunt 
will  be  after  you  with  a  stick." 

"  Aunt  Ann's  —  stick  !  "  laughed  Leila. 

"  My  dear  Leila,"  he  said  gravely,  "  this  boy  has  had  all  the 
manliness  coddled  out  of  him,  but  he  looks  like  his  father.  I 
have  my  own  ideas  of  how  to  deal  with  him.  I  suppose  he  will 
brag  a  bit  at  dinner." 

"  He  will  not,  Uncle  Jim." 

"  Bet  you  a  pound  of  bonbons,  Leila." 

"From  town?" 

"  Yes." 

"  All  right." 

"  Can  he  coast  ?     I  did  not  ask  you." 

"  Well !  pretty  well,"  said  Leila.  For  some  unknown  reason 
she  was  unwilling  to  say  more. 

"  Does  n't  the  rector  dine  here,  to-day,  Leila  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  —  oh !  Uncle  Jim,  we  found  a  big  hornets'  nest 
yesterday  on  the  log  cabin.  They  seemed  all  asleep.  I  told 
John  we  would  fight  them  in  the  spring." 

"And  what  did  he  say?" 

"  He  said :  '  Did  they  sting  ?  '—  I  said :  '  That  was  the  fun 
of  it ! ' " 

"  Better  not  tell  your  aunt." 

"  No,  sir.     I  'm  an  obedient  little  girl." 


WESTWAYS  33 

"  You  little  scamp !  You  were  meant  to  be  a  boy.  Is  there 
anything  you  are  afraid  of  ?  " 

"Yes,  algebra." 

"  Oh !  get  out,"  and  she  fled. 

At  dinner  John  said  no  word  of  the  skating,  to  the  satis 
faction  of  Leila  who  conveyed  to  her  uncle  a  gratified  sense  of 
victory  by  some  of  the  signs  which  were  their  private  property. 

Leaving  the  cousins  to  their  game  of  chess,  Penhallow  fol 
lowed  his  wife  and  Mark  Rivers  into  his  library.  "Well, 
Mark,"  he  said,  "  you  have  had  this  boy  long  enough  to  judge ; 
it  is  time  I  heard  what  you  think  of  him.  You  asked  me  to 
wait.  The  youngster  is  rather  reticent,  and  Leila  is  about  the 
only  person  in  the  house  who  really  knows  much  about  him. 
He  talks  like  a  man  of  thirty." 

"  I  do  not  find  him  reticent,"  remarked  Mrs.  Ann,  "  and 
his  manners  are  charming  —  I  wish  Leila's  were  half  as  good." 

"  Well,  let 's  hear  about  him." 

"  May  I  smoke  ?  "  asked  the  rector. 

"  Anywhere  but  in  my  drawing-room.  I  believe  James  would 
like  to  smoke  in  church." 

"  It  might  have  its  consolations,"  returned  Penhallow. 

"  Thanks,"  said  Eivers  smiling.  Neither  man  took  advan 
tage  of  her  unusual  permission.  "But  you,  Squire,  have  been 
closer  than  I  to  this  interesting  boy.  What  do  you  make  of  him  ?" 

"  He  can't  ride  —  he  hardly  knows  a  horse  from  a  mule." 

"  That 's  not  his  fault,"  said  Mrs.  Penhallow,  "  he  ?s  afraid 
of  horses." 

"  Afraid ! "  said  her  husband.  "  By  George !  afraid  of 
horses." 

"He  speaks  French  perfectly,"  said  Mark  Rivers. 

"  He  can't  swim.  I  got  that  out  of  Leila.  I  understand  he 
tried  it  once  and  gave  it  up." 

"  But  his  mother  made  him,  James.     You  know  Susan.     She 


34  WESTWAYS 

was  as  timid  as  a  house-fly  for  herself,  and  I  suppose  for  him." 

"  I  asked  him/'  said  Eivers,  "  if  he  knew  any  Latin.  He 
answered  me  in  Latin  and  told  me  that  at  Budapest  where 
he  was  long  at  school  the  boys  had  to  speak  Latin." 

"  And  the  rest,  Rivers.     Is  he  well  up  in  mathematics  ?  " 

"  No,  he  finds  that  difficult.  But,  upon  my  word,  Squire,  he 
is  the  most  doggedly  persistent  fellow  I  have  ever  had  to  teach 
and  I  handled  many  boys  when  I  was  younger.  I  can  take 
care  of  my  side  of  the  boy." 

"  He  can  skate,  James,"  said  Mrs.  Ann. 

"  Yes,  so  I  hear.  I  suppose  that  under  Leila's  care  and  a 
good  out-of-door  life  he  will  drop  his  girl-ways  —  but  — " 

"But  what,  James?" 

"  Oh !  he  has  been  taught  that  there  is  no  shame  in  failure, 
no  disgrace  in  being  afraid." 

"  How  do  you  know  he  is  afraid,  my  dear  James  ?  " 

"  Oh !  I  know."  Leila's  unwillingness  to  talk  had  given  him 
some  suspicion  of  the  truth.  "Well,  we  shall  see.  He  needs 
some  rough  boy-company.  I  don't  like  to  have  the  village 
boys  alone  with  Leila,  but  when  she  has  John  with  her  it  may  be 
as  well  to  ask  Dr.  McGregor's  son  Tom  to  coast  and  play  with 
them." 

"  He  has  no  manners,"  said  Mrs.  Penhallow. 

"  Then  he  may  get  some  from  John.  He  never  will  from 
Leila.  I  will  take  care  of  the  rest,  Rivers.  He  has  got  to 
learn  to  ride." 

"  You  wont  be  too  hard  on  him,  James  ?  "  said  his  wife. 

"  Not  unless  he  needs  it.     Let  us  drop  him." 

"  Have  you  seen  yesterday's  papers  ?  "  asked  Rivers.  "  Our 
politics,  North  and  South,  look  to  me  stormy." 

Penhallow  shook  his  head  at  the  tall  rector.  The  angry  strife 
of  sections  and  parties  was  the  one  matter  he  never  discussed 
with  Ann  Penhallow.  The  rector  recalled  it  as  he  saw  Mrs. 
Ann  sit  up  and  drop  on  her  lap  the  garment  upon  which 


WESTWAYS  35 

her  ever  industrious  hands  were  busy.  Accepting  Penhallow's 
hint,  Eivers  said  quickly,  "  But  really  there  is  nothing  new," 
and  then,  "  Tom  McGregor  will  certainly  be  the  better  for  our 
little  gentleman's  good  manners,  and  he  too  has  something  to 
learn  of  Tom." 

"  I  should  say  he  has,"  said  Penhallow. 

"  A  little  dose  of  West  Point,  I  suppose,"  laughed  Mrs.  Ann. 
"  It  is  my  husband's  one  ideal  of  education." 

"  It  must  once,  I  fancy,  have  satisfied  Ann  Grey,"  retorted 
the  Squire  smiling. 

"I  reserve  any  later  opinion  of  James  Penhallow,"  she  said 
laughing,  and  gathering  up  her  sewing  bag  left  them,  declar 
ing  that  now  they  might  smoke.  The  two  men  rose,  and  when 
alone  begaa  at  once  to  talk  of  the  coming  election  in  the  fall 
of  1856  and  the  endless  troubles  arising  out  of  the  Fugitive 
Slave  Act. 

The  boy  who  had  been  the  subject  of  their  conversation  was 
slowly  becoming  used  to  novel  surroundings  and  the  influence 
they  exerted.  Ann  talked  to  him  at  times  of  his  mother,  but 
he  had  the  disinclination  to  speak  of  the  dead  which  most 
children  have,  and  had  in  some  ways  been  kept  so  much  of  a 
child  as  to  astonish  his  aunt.  Neither  Leila  nor  any  one  could 
have  failed  to  like  him  and  his  gentle  ways,  and  as  between 
him  and  the  village  boys  she  knew  Leila  preferred  this  clever, 
if  too  timid,  cousin.  So  far  they  had  had  no  serious  quarrels. 
When  she  rode  with  the  Squire,  John  wandered  in  the  woods, 
enjoying  solitude,  and  having  some  appreciative  relation  to 
nature,  the  great  pine  woods,  the  strange  noises  of  the  break 
ing  ice  in  the  river,  the  sunset  skies. 

Among  the  village  boys  with  whom  at  the  rector's  small 
school  and  in  the  village  John  was  thrown,  he  liked  least  the 
lad  McGregor,  who  had  now  been  invited  to  coast  or  skate  with 
the  Grey  Pine  cousins.  Tom  had  the  democratic  boy-belief 
that  very  refined  manners  imply  lack  of  some  other  far  more 


36  WESTWAYS 

practical  qualities,  and  thus  to  him  and  the  Westways  boys  John 
Penhallow  was  simply  an  absurd  Miss  Nancy  kind  of  lad,  and 
it  was  long  after  the  elders  of  the  little  town  admired  and 
liked  him  that  the  boys  learned  to  respect  him.  It  was  easy 
to  see  why  the  generous,  good-tempered  and  pleasant  lad  failed 
to  satisfy  the  town  boys.  John  had  been  sedulously  educated 
into  the  belief  that  he  was  of  a  class  to  which  these  fellows 
did  not  belong,  and  of  this  the  Squire  had  soon  some  suspicion 
when,  obedient  as  always,  John  accepted  his  uncle's  choice  of 
his  friend  the  doctor's  son  as  a  playmate. 

He  was  having  his  hair  cut  when  Tom  McGregor  came  into 
the  shop  of  Joeiah,  the  barber.  "Wait  a  minute,"  said  John. 
"  Are  you  through,  Mr.  Josiah  ?  " 

Tom  grinned,  "  Got  a  handle  to  your  name  ?  " 

"  Yes,  because  Master  John  is  a  gentleman." 

"  Then  I  '11  call  you  Mister  too." 

"  It  won't  ever  make  you  Mister,"  said  the  barber,  "  that 
kind  's  born  so." 

John  disliked  this  outspoken  expression  of  an  opinion  he 
shared.  "  Nonsense,"  he  said.  "  Come  up,  Tom,  this  after 
noon.  Don't  forget  the  muskrat  traps,  Mr.  Josiah." 

"  No,  sir.     Too  early  yet." 

"  AH  right,"  returned  Tom.     "  I  '11  come." 

March  had  come  and  the  last  snow  still  lay  on  the  land  when 
thus  invited  Tom  joined  John  and  Leila  in  the  stable-yard. 
"Let's  play  tag,"  cried  Leila.  Tom  was  ready. 

"Here's  a  stick."  They  took  hold  of  it  in  turn.  Tom's 
hand  came  out  on  top.  "  I  'm  tagger.  Look  out !  "  he  cried. 

They  played  the  game.  At  last  he  caught  Leila,  and  cry 
ing  out,  "  You  're  tagged,"  seized  her  boy-cap  and  threw  it  up 
on  to  the  steep  slope  of  the  stable  roof. 

"  Oh !  that 's  not  fair,"  cried  the  girl.  "  You  are  a  rude  boy. 
Now  you  've  got  to  get  it." 

"  No,  indeed.     Get  the  stable-man  to  get  it." 


WESTWAYS  37 

She  turned  to  John,  "  Please  to  get  it." 
"  How  can  I  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Go  up  inside  —  there  's  a  trap  door.     You  can  slide  down 
the  snow  and  get  it." 
"  But  I  might  fall." 

"  There 's  your  chance,"  said  Tom  grinning.  John  stood, 
still  irresolute.  Leila  walked  away  into  the  stable. 

"  She  '11  get  a  man,"  said  Tom  a  little  regretful  of  his  rude 
ness,  as  she  disappeared. 

In  a  moment  Leila  was  up  in  the  hayloft  and  out  on  the  roof. 
Spreading  out  arms  and  thin  legs  she  carefully  let  herself  slide 
down  the  soft  snow  until,  seizing  her  cap,  she  set  her  feet  on 
the  roof  gutter,  crying  out,  "  Get  a  ladder  quick."  Alarmed  at 
her  perilous  position,  they  ran  and  called  out  a  groom,  a  lad 
der  was  brought,  and  in  a  moment  she  was  on  the  ground. 

Leila  turned  on  the  two  lads.  "  You  are  a  coward,  Tom  Mc 
Gregor,  and  you  too,  John  Penhallow.  I  never  —  never  will 
play  with  you  again." 

"  It  was  just  fun,"  said  Tom ;  "  any  of  the  men  could  have 
poked  it  down." 

"  Cowards,"  said  the  girl,  tossing  back  her  dark  mass  of 
hair  and  moving  away  without  a  look  at  the  discomfited  pair. 

"  I  suppose  now  you  will  go  and  tell  the  Squire,"  said  Tom. 
He  was  alarmed. 

She  turned,  "I  —  a  tell-tale !  "  Her  child-code  of  conduct 
was  imperative.  "  I  am  neither  a  tell-tale  nor  a  coward.  *  Tell 
tale  pick  a  nail  and  hang  him  to  a  cow's  tail ! ' "  and  with  this 
well-known  declaration  of  her  creed  of  playground  honour,  she 
walked  away. 

"  She  '11  tell,"  said  Tom. 

"She  won't,"  said  John. 

"  Guess  I  '11  go  home,"  said  Tom,  and  left  John  to  his  re 
flections.  They  were  most  disagreeable. 

John  went  into  the  woods  and  sat  down  on  a  log.     "  So," 


38  WESTWAYS 

he  said  aloud,  "  she  called  me  a  coward  —  and  I  am  —  I  was  — 
I  can't  bear  it.  What  would  my  uncle  say  ?  "  His  eyes  filled. 
He  brushed  away  the  tears  with  his  sleeve.  A  sudden  remem 
brance  of  how  good  she  had  been  to  him,  how  loyally  silent, 
added  to  his  distress.  He  longed  for  a  chance  to  prove  that 
he  was  not  that  —  that —  Eager  and  yet  distrustful,  he  got 
up  and  walked  through  the  melting  snow  to  the  cabin,  where 
he  lay  on  the  floor  thinking,  a  prey  to  that  fiend  imagination, 
of  which  he  had  a  larger  share  than  is  always  pleasant  when 
excuses  are  needed. 

Leila  was  coldly  civil  and  held  her  tongue,  but  for  a  few 
days  would  not  go  into  the  woods  with  him  and  rode  alone  or 
with  her  uncle.  Tom  came  no  more  for  a  week,  until  self-as 
sured  that  the  Squire  had  not  heard  of  his  behaviour,  as  he 
met  him  on  the  road  with  his  usual  hearty  greeting.  Ann 
Penhallow  saw  that  the  boy  was  less  happy  than  usual  and  sus 
pected  some  mild  difficulty  with  Leila,  but  in  her  wise  way 
said  nothing  and  began  to  use  him  for  some  of  her  many 
errands  of  helpfulness  in  the  village  and  on  the  farms,  where 
always  he  made  friends.  Seeing  at  last  that  the  boy  was  too 
silent  and  to  her  eye  unhappy,  she  talked  of  it  to  Mark  Eivers. 
The  next  day,  after  school,  he  said  to  John,  "  I  want  to  see 
that  old  cabin  in  the  woods.  Long  as  I  have  lived  here  I  have 
never  been  that  far.  Come  and  show  me  the  way.  I  tried 
once  to  find  it  and  got  lost.  We  can  have  a  jolly  good  talk, 
you  and  I." 

The  word  of  kindly  approach  was  timely.  John  felt  the  in 
vitation  as  a  compliment,  and  was  singularly  open  to  the  ap 
proval  his  lessons  won  from  this  gentle  dark-eyed  man.  "  Oh !  " 
he  said,  "  I  should  like  that." 

After  lunch,  Leila,  a  little  penitent,  said  with  unwonted  shy 
ness,  "  The  woods  are  very  nice  to-day,  and  I  found  the  first 
arbutus  under  the  snow." 

When  John  did  not  respond,  she  made  a  further  propitiatory 


WESTWAYS  39 

advance,  "  It  will  soon  be  time  for  that  hornets'  nest,  we  must 
go  and  see/' 

"  What  are  you  about  ? "  said  Mrs.  Ann ;  "  you  will  get 
stung." 

"  Pursuit  of  natural  history,"  said  Penhallow  smiling. 

"  You  are  as  bad  as  Leila,  James." 

"  Won't  you  come  ?  "  asked  the  girl  at  last. 

"Thank  you.  I  regret  that  I  have  an  engagement  with  Mr. 
Rivers,"  said  John,  with  the  prim  manner  he  was  fast  losing. 

"  By  George ! "  murmured  Penhallow  as  he  rose. 

John  looked  up  puzzled,  and  his  uncle,  much  amused,  went  to 
get  his  boots  and  riding-dress.  "  Wait  till  I  get  you  on  a  horse, 
my  Lord  Chesterfield,"  he  muttered.  "He  and  Leila  must 
have  had  a  row.  What  about,  I  wonder."  He  asked  no  ques 
tions. 

With  a  renewal  of  contentment  and  well-pleased,  John  called 
for  the  rector.  They  went  away  into  the  forest  to  the  cabin. 

"And  so/'  said  Rivers,  "this  is  where  the  first  Penhallow 
had  his  Indian  fight.  I  must  ask  the  Squire." 

"I  know  about  it,"  said  John.  "Leila  told  me,  and" — 
he  paused,  "  I  saw  it." 

"Oh!  did  you?  Let's  hear."  They  lay  down,  and  the  rec 
tor  lazily  smoked.  "  Well,  go  ahead,  Jack,  I  like  stories."  He 
had  early  rechristened  him  Jack,  and  the  boy  liked  it. 

"Well,  sir,  they  saw  them  coming  near  to  dusk  and  ran. 
You  see,  it  was  a  clearing  then;  the  trees  have  grown  here  since. 
That  was  at  dusk.  They  barred  the  door  and  cut  loop-holes 
between  the  logs.  Next  morning  the  Indians  came  on.  She 
fired  first,  and  she  cried  out,  (  Oh !  James,  I  've  killed  a  man.' " 

"She  said  that?"  asked  Rivers. 

''  Yes,  and  she  would  n't  shoot  again  until  her  man  was 
wounded,  then  she  was  like  a  raging  lioness." 

"  A  lioness !  "  echoed  Rivers. 

"  By  evening,  help  came." 


40  WESTWAYS 

"How  did  you  know  all  this?" 

"  Oh !  Leila  told  me  some  —  and  the  rest  —  well,  sir,  I  saw 
it.  I  've  been  here  often." 

The  rector  studied  the  excited  young  face.  "Would  you 
like  to  have  been  there,  Jack  ?  " 

"  No." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  should  have  been  afraid,  and  — "  Then  quickly,  "  I  sup 
pose  he  was ;  she  was ;  any  one  would  have  been." 

"  Like  as  not.  He  for  her,  most  of  all.  But  there  are  many 
kinds  of  fear,  Jack." 

John  was  silent,  and  the  rector  waited.  Then  the  boy  broke 
out,  "  Leila  told  me  last  week  I  was  a  coward." 

"  Indeed !  Leila  told  you  that !  That  was  n't  like  her,  Jack. 
Why  did  she  say  it?" 

This  was  a  friendly  hearer,  whose  question  John  had  invited. 
To-day  the  human  relief  of  confession  was  great  to  the  boy. 
He  told  the  story,  in  bits,  carefully,  as  if  to  have  it  exact  were 
essential.  Mark  Eivers  watched  him  through  his  pipe  smoke, 
trying  to  think  of  what  he  could  or  should  say  to  this  small 
soul  in  trouble.  The  boy  was  lying  on  the  floor  looking  up, 
his  hands  clasped  behind  his  head.  "That's  all,  sir.  It's 
dreadful." 

The  young  rector's  directness  of  character  set  him  on  the 
right  path.  "  I  don't  know  just  what  to  say  to  you,  Jack. 
You  see,  you  have  been  taught  to  be  afraid  of  horses  and  dogs, 
of  exposure  to  rain,  and  generally  of  being  hurt,  until  —  Well, 
Jack,  if  your  mother  had  not  been  an  invalid,  she  would  not 
have  educated  you  to  fear,  to  have  no  joy  in  risks.  Now  you 
are  in  more  wholesome  surroundings  —  and  —  in  a  little  while 
you  will  forget  this  small  trouble." 

The  young  clergyman  felt  that  in  his  puzzle  he  had  been 
rather  vague,  and  added  pleasantly,  "  You  have  the  courage 
of  truth.  That's  moral  courage.  Tom  would  have  explained 


WESTWAYS  41 

or  denied,  or  done  anything  to  get  out  of  the  scrape,  if  the 
Squire  had  come  down  on  him.  You  would  not." 

"  Oh !  thank  you,"  said  John.     "  I  'm  sorry  I  troubled  you." 

"You  did  in  a  way;  but  you  did  not  when  you  trusted  a 
man  who  is  your  friend.  Let  us  drop  it.  Where  are  those 
Indian  graves  ?  " 

They  went  out  and  wandered  in  the  woods,  until  John  said, 
"Oh!  this  must  be  that  arbutus  Leila  talks  about,  just  peep 
ing  out  from  under  the  snow."  They  gathered  a  large  bunch. 

"It  is  the  first  breath  of  the  fragrance  of  spring,"  said 
Rivers. 

"  Oh !  yes,  sir.  How  sweet  it  is !  It  does  not  grow  in 
Europe." 

"  No,  we  own  it  with  many  other  good  and  pleasant  things." 

When  they  came  to  the  house,  Leila  was  dismounting  after 
her  ride.  John  said,  "  Here  Leila,  I  gathered  these  for  you." 

When  she  said,  "  Thank  you,  John,"  he  knew  by  her  smiling 
face  that  he  was  forgiven,  and  without  a  word  followed  her 
into  the  hall,  still  pursued  by  the  thought;  but  I  was  afraid. 
He  put  aside  this  trouble  for  a  time,  and  the  wood  sports  with 
Leila  were  once  more  resumed.  What  thought  of  his  failure 
the  girl  still  kept  in  mind,  if  she  thought  of  it  at  all,  he  never 
knew,  or  not  for  many  days.  He  had  no  wish  to  talk  of  it, 
but  fearfully  desired  to  set  himself  right  with  her  and  with 
John  Penhallow. 

One  day  in  early  April  she  asked  him  to  go  to  the  stable 
and  order  her  horse.  He  did  so,  and  alone  with  an  unpleasant 
memory,  in  the  stable-yard  he  stood  still  a  moment,  and  then 
with  a  sudden  impulse  threw  his  cap  up  on  to  the  roof.  He 
took  a  moment  to  regret  it,  and  then  saying,  "  I  've  got  to  do 
it ! "  he  went  into  the  stable  and  out  of  the  hay-loft  on  to  the 
sloping  roof.  He  did  not  dare  to  wait,  but  let  himself  slide 
down  the  frozen  snow,  seized  his  cap,  and  knew  of  a  sudden 
that  the  smooth  ice-coating  was  an  unsuspected  peril.  He 


42  WESTWAYS 

rolled  over  on  his  face,  straightened  himself,  and  slid  to  the 
edge.  He  clutched  the  gutter,  hung  a  moment,  and  dropped 
some  fifteen  feet  upon  the  hard  pavement.  For  a  moment  the 
shock  stunned  him.  Then,  as  he  lay,  he  was  aware  of  Billy, 
who  cried.  "  He  's  dead !  he  ?s  dead !  "  and  ran  to  the  house, 
where  he  met  Mrs.  Ann  and  Leila  on  the  porch.  "  He  's  killed 
—  he  's  dead !  » 

"Who?     Who?"  they  cried. 

"  Mr.  John,  he  's  dead !  " 

As  Billy  ran,  the  dead  got  his  wits  about  him,  sat  up,  and, 
hearing  Billy  howling,  got  on  his  feet.  His  hands  were  torn 
and  bleeding,  but  he  was  not  otherwise  damaged.  He  ran 
after  Billy,  and  was  but  a  moment  behind  him. 

Mrs.  Ann  was  shaking  the  simple  fellow,  vainly  trying  to 
learn  what  had  happened.  Leila  white  to  the  lips  was  leaning 
against  a  pillar.  John  called  out,  "  I  'm  all  right,  aunt.  I  had 
a  fall  —  and  Billy,  do  hold  your  tongue." 

Billy  cried,  "  He  's  not  dead ! "  and  fled  as  he  had  come. 

"  My  poor  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Ann,  "  sit  down."  He  gladly 
obeyed. 

At  this  moment  James  Penhallow  came  downstairs.  "  What 's 
all  this  row  about,  Ann  ?  I  heard  Billy  —  Oh,  so  you  're  the 
dead  man,  John.  How  did  you  happen  to  die  ?  " 

"  I  fell  off  the  stable  roof,  sir." 

"Well,  you  got  off  easily."  He  asked  no  other  questions, 
to  John's  relief,  but  said,  "Your  hands  look  as  if  you  had 
fought  our  big  tom-cat." 

John  had  risen  on  his  uncle's  approach.  Now  Penhallow 
said,  "  Sit  down.  Put  some  court-plaster  on  those  scratches, 
Ann,  or  a  postage  stamp  —  or  —  so —  Come,  Leila,  the 
horses  are  here.  Eun  upstairs  and  get  my  riding-whip.  That 
fool  brought  me  down  in  a  hurry.  When  the  chimney  took 
fire  last  year  he  ran  through  the  village  yelling  that  the  house 
was  burned  down.  Don't  let  your  aunt  coddle  you,  John." 


WESTWAYS  43 

"Do  let  the  boy  alone,  James." 

"  Come,  Leila/'  he  said. 

"I  think  I  won't  ride  to-day,  Uncle  Jim." 

A  faint  signal  from  his  wife  sent  him  on  his  way  alone  with, 
"  All  right,  Leila.  Any  errands,  my  dear  ?  " 

«  No  —  but  please  call  at  the  grocer's  and  ask  him  why  he 
has  sent  no  sugar  —  and  tell  Mrs.  Saul  I  want  her.  If  Pole 
is  in,  you  might  mention  that  when  I  order  beef  I  do  not  want 
veal." 

While  John  was  being  plastered  and  in  dread  of  the  further 
questions  which  were  not  asked,  Leila  went  upstairs,  and  the 
Squire  rode  away  to  the  iron-works  smiling  and  pleased. 
"  He  '11  do,"  he  murmured,  "  but  what  the  deuce  was  my  young 
dandy  doing  on  the  roof  ?  "  The  Captain  had  learned  in  the 
army  the  wisdom  of  asking  no  needless  questions.  "  Leila  must 
have  been  a  pretty  lively  instructor  in  mischief.  By  and  by, 
Ann  will  have  it  out  of  the  boy,  and  —  I  must  stop  that.  Now 
she  will  be  too  full  of  surgery.  She  is  sure  to  think  Leila 
had  something  to  do  with  it."  He  saw  of  late  that  Ann  was 
resolute  as  to  what  to  him  would  be  a  sad  loss.  Leila  was  to 
be  sent  to  school  before  long  —  accomplishments !  "  Damn  ac 
complishments  !  I  have  tried  to  make  a  boy  out  of  her  —  now 
the  inevitable  feminine  appears  —  she  was  scared  white  —  and 
the  boy  was  pretty  shaky.  I  am  sure  Leila  will  know  all  about 
it."  That  school  business  had  already  been  discussed  with  his 
wife,  and  then,  he  thought,  "  There  is  to  come  a  winter  in 
the  city,  society,  and  —  some  nice  young  man,  and  so  good-bye, 
my  dear  comrade.  Get  up,  Brutus."  He  dismissed  his  cares 
as  the  big  bay  stretched  out  in  a  gallop. 

After  some  surgical  care,  John  was  told  to  go  to  his  room 
and  lie  down.  He  protested  that  he  was  in  no  need  of  rest, 
but  Ann  Penhallow,  positive  in  small  ways  with  every  one, 
including  her  husband,  sent  John  away  with  an  imperative 
order,  nor  on  the  whole  was  he  sorry  to  be  alone.  No  one  had 


44  WESTWAYS 

been  too  curious.  He  recognized  this  as  a  reasonable  habit  of 
the  family.  And  Leila?  He  was  of  no  mind  to  be  frank  with 
her;  and  this  he  had  done  was  a  debt  paid  to  John  Penhallow! 
He  may  not  have  so  put  it,  but  he  would  not  admit  to  him 
self  that  Leila's  contemptuous  epithet  had  had  any  influence 
on  his  action.  The  outcome  was  a  keen  sense  of  happy  self- 
approval.  When  he  had  dressed  for  dinner,  feeling  pretty  sore 
all  over,  he  found  Leila  waiting  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

"  John  Penhallow,  you  threw  your  cap  on  the  roof  and  went 
up  to  get  it,  you  did." 

"  I  did,  Leila,  but  how  did  you  know  ?  " 

She  smiled  and  replied,  "I  —  I  don't  know,  John.  I  am 
sorry  for  what  I  said,  and  oh!  John,  Uncle  Jim,  he  was 
pleased ! " 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"Yes."  She  caught  his  hand  and  at  the  last  landing  let 
it  fall.  At  dinner,  the  Squire  asked  kindly :  "  Are  you  all 
right,  my  boy  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,"  and  that  was  all. 

Mark  Eivers,  who  had  heard  of  this  incident  from  Mrs. 
Penhallow,  and  at  last  from  Leila,  was  alone  in  a  position  to 
comprehend  the  motives  which  combined  to  bring  about  an  act 
of  rashness.  The  rector  had  some  sympathy  with  the  boy 
and  liked  him  for  choosing  a  time  when  no  one  was  present 
to  witness  his  trial  of  himself.  He  too  had  the  good  sense 
like  the  Squire  to  ask  no  questions. 

Meanwhile,  Tom  McGregor  came  no  more,  feeling  the  wound 
to  his  pride,  but  without  the  urgent  need  felt  by  John  to  set 
himself  in  a  better  position  with  himself.  He  would  have 
thought  nothing  of  accepting  Leila's  challenge,  but  very  much 
wanted  to  see  the  polite  girl-boy  brought  to  shame.  In  fact, 
even  the  straightforward  Squire,  with  all  his  ready  cordiality, 
at  times  found  John's  extreme  politeness  ridiculous  at  his  age, 
but  knew  it  to  be  the  result  of  absurd  training  and  the  absence 


WESTWAYS  45 

of  natural  association  with  other  and  manly  boys.  To  Tom 
it  was  unexplained  and  caused  that  very  common  feeling  of 
vague  suspicion  of  some  claim  to  superiority  which  refined 
manners  imply  to  those  who  lack  manners  altogether. 


CHAPTER  IV 

APEIL  passed,  the  arbutus  fragrance  was  gone,  while  the 
maples  were  putting  forth  ruddy  buds  which  looked  like  a 
prophecy  of  the  distant  autumn  and  made  gay  with  colour  the 
young  greenery  of  spring.  Meanwhile,  school  went  on,  and 
John  grew  stronger  and  broader  in  this  altogether  wholesome  at 
mosphere  of  outdoor  activity  and  indoor  life  of  kindness  and 
apparently  inattentive  indifference  on  the  part  of  his  busy  uncle. 

On  an  evening  late  in  May,  1856  (John  long  remembered 
it),  the  Squire  as  usual  left  their  little  circle  and  retired  to 
the  library,  where  he  busied  himself  over  matters  involving 
business  letters,  and  then  fell  to  reading  in  the  Tribune  the 
bitter  politics  of  Fremont's  contest  with  Buchanan  and  the 
still  angry  talk  over  Brooks's  assault  on  Senator  Sumner. 
He  foresaw  defeat  and  was  with  cool  judgment  aware  of 
what  the  formation  of  the  Republican  Party  indicated  in  the 
way  of  trouble  to  come.  The  repeal  of  the  Missouri  Com 
promise  had  years  before  disturbed  his  party  allegiance,  and 
now  no  longer  had  he  been  able  to  see  the  grave  question  of 
slavery  as  Ann  his  wife  saw  it.  He  threw  aside  the  papers, 
set  his  table  in  order,  and  opening  the  door  called  John  to 
come  in  and  pay  him  a  visit.  The  boy  rose  surprised.  Never 
once  had  this  ever-occupied  man  talked  to  him  at  length  and 
he  had  never  been  set  free  to  wander  in  the  tempting  wilder 
ness  of  books,  which  now  and  then  when  James  Penhallow  was 
absent  were  remorselessly  dusted  by  Mrs.  Ann  and  the  maid, 
with  dislocating  consequences  over  which  James  Penhallow 
growled  in  belated  protest. 

John  went  in,  glanced  up  at  the  Captain's  sword  over  the 

46 


WESTWAYS  47 

mantelpiece,,  and  sat  down  as  desired  by  the  still-needed  fire. 

"John,"  said  his  uncle  in  his  usual  direct  way,  "have  you 
ever  been  on  the  back  of  a  horse  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  once  —  in  Paris  at  a  riding-school." 

"  Once !     You  said  '  once  '—  well  ?  " 

"  I  fell  off  —  mother  was  with  me.'9 

"  And  you  got  on  again  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"Why  not?" 

John  flushed  and  hesitated,  watched  by  the  dark-eyed  Squire. 
"  I  was  afraid ! "  He  would  not  say  that  his  mother  forbade 
it. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"John,  sir,"  he  returned  astonished. 

"  And  the  rest  —  the  rest,  sir,"  added  his  uncle  abruptly. 

John  troubled  by  the  soldier's  impatient  tones  said :  "  Pen- 
hallow,  sir."  He  was  near  to  a  too  emotional  display. 

"  And  you,  John  Penhallow,  my  brother's  son,  were  afraid  ?  " 

"  I  was."  It  was  only  in  part  true.  His  mother  had  for 
bidden  the  master  to  remount  him. 

"  By  George ! "  said  Penhallow  angrily,  "  I  don't  believe  you. 
I  can't!" 

John  rose,  "  I  may  be  a  coward,  Uncle  James,  but  I  never 
lie." 

Penhallow  stood  up,  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  John." 

"  Oh  !  no,  Uncle  James.  I  —  please  not."  He  felt  as  if  the 
tall  soldier  was  humiliating  himself,  but  could  not  have  put 
it  in  words. 

"  I  was  hasty,  my  boy.  You  must,  of  course,  learn  to  ride. 
By  the  way,  do  you  ever  read  the  papers  ?  " 

"  Not  often,  sir  —  hardly  ever.  They  are  kept  in  your 
library  or  Aunt  Ann's." 

"  Well,  it  is  time  you  did  read  them.  Come  in  here  when 
you  want  to  be  alone  —  or  any  time.  You  won't  bother  me. 


48  WESTWAYS 

Take  what  books  you  want,  and  ask  me  about  the  politics  of 
the  day.  The  country  is  going  to  the  devil,  but  don't  discuss 
this  election  with  your  aunt." 

"  No,  sir."  He  had  gathered  from  the  rector  enough  to 
make  him  understand  the  warning. 

John  went  out  with  the  idea  that  this  business  of  learning 
to  ride  was  somewhere  in  the  future.  He  was  a  little  disturbed 
when  the  next  day  after  breakfast  his  uncle  said,  "  Come,  John, 
the  horses  are  in  the  training-ring." 

Mrs.  Ann  said,  "James,  if  you  are  going  to  apply  West 
Point  riding-school  methods  to  John,  I  protest." 

"  Then  protest,  my  dear,"  he  said. 

"  You  will  kill  him,"  she  returned. 

"  My  dear  Ann,  I  am  not  going  to  kill  him,  I  am  going  to 
teach  him  to  live.  Come,  John.  I  am  going  to  teach  him  to 
ride."  Raising  horses  was  one  of  the  Squire's  amusements, 
and  the  training-course  where  young  horses  were  broken  usually 
got  an  hour  of  his  busy  day. 

"  May  I  come  ?  "  asked  Leila. 

"  Please,  not,"  said  John,  anticipating  disaster  and  desiring 
no  amused  spectators. 

"  In  a  week  or  so,  yes,  Leila,"  said  Penhallow,  "  not  now." 

There  were  two  stable-boys  waiting  and  a  pony  long  retired 
on  grassy  pension.  "  Now,"  said  Penhallow,  "  put  a  foot  on 
my  knee  and  up  you  go." 

"  But,  there' s  no  saddle." 

"  There  are  two.  The  Lord  of  horses  put  one  on  the  back 
of  a  horse  and  another  under  a  man.  Up !  sir."  John  got  on. 
"  Grip  him  with  your  legs,  hold  on  to  the  mane  if  you  like,  but 
not  by  the  reins."  The  pony  feeling  no  urgency  to  move  stood 
still  and  nibbled  the  young  grass.  A  smart  tap  of  the  Squire's 
whip  started  him,  and  John  rolled  off. 

"  Come,  sir,  get  on."  The  boys  from  the  stable  grinned. 
John  set  his  teeth.  "Don't  stiffen  yourself.  That's  better." 


WESTWAYS  49 

He  fell  once  again,  and  at  the  close  of  an  hour  his  uncle  said, 
"  There  that  will  do  for  to-day,  and  not  so  bad  either/' 

"  I  'd  like  to  try  it  again,  sir,"  gasped  John. 

"  You  young  humbug,"  laughed  Penhallow.  "  Go  and  con 
sole  your  distracted  aunt.  I  am  off  to  the  mills." 

The  ex-captain  was  merciless  enough,  and  day  after  day  John 
was  so  stiff  that,  as  he  confessed  to  Leila,  a  jointed  doll  was 
a  trifle  to  his  condition.  She  laughed,  "  I  went  through  it 
once,  but  one  day  it  came." 

"  What  came,  Leila  ?  " 

"Oh!  the  joy  of  the  horse!" 

"  I  shall  never  get  to  that."  But  he  did,  for  the  hard  rid 
ing-master  scolded,  smiled,  praised,  and  when  at  last  John  sat 
in  the  saddle  the  bareback  lessons  gave  him  a  certain  con 
fidence.  The  training  went  on  day  after  day,  under  the  rule  of 
patient  but  relentless  efficiency.  It  was  far  into  June  when, 
having  backed  without  serious  misadventures  two  or  three  well- 
broken  horses,  Penhallow  mounted  him  on  Leila's  mare,  Lucy, 
and  set  out  to  ride  with  him. 

"Let  us  ride  to  the  mills,  John."  The  mare  was  perfectly 
gaited  and  easy.  They  rode  on,  talking  horses. 

"  You  will  have  to  manage  the  mills  some  day,"  said  Pen 
hallow.  "  You  own  quite  a  fifth  of  them.  Now  I  have  three 
partners,  but  some  day  you  and  I  will  run  them."  The  boy 
had  been  there  before  with  Eivers,  but  now  the  Squire  presented 
him  to  the  foreman  and  as  they  moved  about  explained  the 
machinery.  It  was  altogether  delightful,  and  this  was  a  newly 
discovered  uncle.  On  the  way  home  the  Squire  talked  of  the 
momentous  November  elections  and  of  his  dread  of  the  future 
with  Buchanan  in  power,  while  he  led  the  way  through  lanes 
and  woods  until  they  came  to  the  farm. 

"We  will  cross  the  fields,"  he  said,  and  dismounting  took 
down  the  upper  bars  of  a  fence.  Then  he  rode  back  a  little, 
and  returning  took  the  low  fence,  crying,  "  Now,  John,  sit  like 


50  WESTWAYS 

a  sack  —  loosely.  The  mare  jumps  like  a  frog;  go  back  a  bit. 
Now,  then,  give  her  her  head ! "  For  a  moment  he  was  in 
the  air  as  his  uncle  cried,  "  You  lost  a  stirrup.  Try  it  again. 
Oh !  that  was  better.  Now,  once  more,  come,"  and  he  was  over 
at  Penhallow's  side.  He  had  found  the  joy  of  the  horse !  "  A 
bit  more  confidence  and  practice  and  you  will  do.  I  want  you 
to  ride  Venus.  She  shies  at  a  shadow  —  at  anything  black. 
Don't  forget  that." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Uncle  James !  " 

"It  is  Uncle  Jim  now,  my  boy.  I  knew  from  the  first  you 
would  come  out  all  right.  I  believe  in  blood  —  horses  and 
men.  I  believe  in  blood."  This  was  James  Penhallow  all  over. 
A  reticent  man,  almost  as  tenderly  trustful  as  a  woman,  of 
those  who  came  up  to  his  standards  of  honour,  truth  and  the 
courage  which  rightly  seemed  to  him  the  backbone  of  all  the 
virtues. 

What  John  thought  may  be  readily  imagined.  Accustomed  to 
be  considered  and  flattered,  his  uncle's  quiet  reserve  had  seemed 
to  him  disappointing,  and  now  of  late  this  abrupt  praise  and 
accepting  comradeship  left  the  sensitive  lad  too  grateful  for 
words.  The  man  at  his  side  was  wise  enough  to  say  no  more, 
and  they  rode  home  and  dismounted  without  further  speech. 

After  dinner  John  sought  a  corner  with  Leila,  where  he 
could  share  with  her  his  new-born  enthusiasm  about  horses. 
The  Squire  called  to  the  rector  and  Mrs.  Ann  to  come  into 
his  library.  "  Sit  down,  Mark,"  he  said,  "  I  am  rash  to  invite 
you;  both  you  and  Ann  bore  me  to  death  with  your  Sunday 
schools  and  the  mill  men  who  won't  come  to  church.  I  don't 
hear  our  Baptist  friend  complain." 

"  But  he  does,"  said  Eivers. 

"  I  do  not  wonder,"  said  Ann,  "  that  they  will  not  attend  the 
chapel." 

"  If,"  said  Penhallow,  "  you  were  to  swap  pulpits,  Mark,  it 
would  draw.  There  are  many  ways  —  oh,  I  am  quite  in  ear- 


WESTWAYS  51 

nest,  Ann.  Don't  put  on  one  of  your  excommunicating  looks. 
I  remember  once  in  Idaho  at  dusk,  I  had  two  guides.  They 
were  positive,  each  of  them,  that  certain  trails  would  lead  to 
the  top.  I  tossed  up  which  to  go  with.  It  was  pretty  serious  — 
Indians  and  so  on  —  I  '11  tell  you  about  it  some  time,  rector. 
Well,  we  met  at  dawn  on  the  summit.  How  about  the  moral, 
Ann?" 

Ann  Penhallow  laughed.  In  politics,  morals  and  religion, 
she  held  unchanging  sentiments.  "  My  dear  James,  people  who 
make  fables  supply  the  morals.  I  decline." 

"  Very  good,  but  you  see  mine." 

"  I  never  see  what  I  do  not  want  to  see,"  which  was  pretty 
close  to  the  truth. 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Rivers,  "  I  have  preaccepted  the  Squire's 
hint.  Grace  is  sick  again.  I  tell  him  it  is  that  last  immer 
sion  business.  I  have  promised  to  preach  for  him  next  Sun 
day,  as  your  young  curate  at  the  mills  wants  to  air  his 
eloquence  here." 

"Not  really!"  said  Mrs.  Ann,  "at  his  chapel?" 

"Yes,  and  I  mean  to  use  a  part  of  our  service." 

"  If  the  Bishop  knew  it." 

"  If !  he  would  possibly  forbid  it,  or  be  glad  I  did  it." 

Mrs.  Ann  totally  disapproved.  She  took  up  her  knitting 
and  said  no  more,  while  Rivers  and  Penhallow  talked  of  a  dis 
turbance  at  the  works  of  no  great  moment.  The  rector  no 
ticed  Mrs.  Penhallow's  sudden  loss  of  interest  in  their  talk  and 
her  failure  to  comment  on  his  statement,  an  unusual  thing 
with  this  woman,  who,  busy-minded  as  the  bee,  gathered  honey 
of  interest  from  most  of  the  affairs  of  life.  In  a  pause  of  the 
talk  he  turned  to  her,  "  I  am  sorry  to  have  annoyed  you,"  he 
said  — "  I  mean  about  preaching  for  Grace." 

"  But  why  do  you  do  it?  " 

"Because,"  he  returned,  "my  Master  bids  me.  Over  and 
over  one  finds  in  His  Word  that  he  foreknew  how  men  would 


52  WESTWAYS 

differ  and  come  to  worship  Him  and  use  His  revelations  in 
ways  which  would  depend  on  diversity  of  temperaments,  or 
under  the  leadership  of  individual  minds  of  great  force.  It 
may  be  that  it  was  meant  that  we  should  disagree,  and  yet  —  I 
—  yet  as  to  essentials  we  are  one.  That  I  never  can  forget." 
"  Then,"  she  said  quickly,  "  you  are  of  many  creeds." 
"  No  and  yes,"  he  returned  smiling.  "  In  essentials  yes,  in 
ceremonial  usage  no;  in  some  other  morsels  of  belief  held  by 
others  charitably  dubious  —  I  dislike  argument  about  religion 
in  the  brief  inadequateness  of  talk  —  especially  with  you  from 
whom  I  am  apt  to  differ  and  to  whom  I  owe  so  much  —  so 
very  much." 

She  took  up  her  knitting  again  as  she  said,  "  I  am  afraid 
the  balance  of  debt  is  on  our  side." 

"  Then,"   said   Penhallow,   who,   too,   disliked   argument  on 
religion,  "if  you  have  got  through  with  additions  to  the  use 
less  squabbles  of  centuries,  which  hurt  and  never  help,  I — " 
"  But,"  broke  in  his  wife,  "  I  have  had  no  answer." 
"  Oh,  but  you  have,  Ann ;  for  me,  Rivers  is  right." 
"  Then  I  am  in  a  minority  of  one,"  she  returned,  "  but  I 
have  not  had  my  say." 

"Well,  dear,  keep  it  for  next  time.     Now  I  want,  as  I  said, 
a  little  counsel  about  John." 

"And  about  Leila,  James.  Something  has  got  to  be  done." 
The  Squire  said  ruefully,  "  Yes,  I  suppose  so.  I  do  not 
know  that  anything  needs  to  be  done.  You  saw  John's  condi 
tion  before  dinner.  He  had  a  swollen  nose  and  fair  promise 
of  a  black  eye.  I  asked  you  to  take  no  notice  of  it.  I  wanted 
first  to  hear  what  had  happened.  I  got  Leila  on  the  porch  and 
extracted  it  by  bits.  It  seems  that  Tom  was  rude  to  Leila." 

"  I  never  liked  your  allowing  him  to  play  with  the  children, 
James." 

"  But  the  boy  needs  boy-company." 

"  And  what  of  Leila  ?     She  needs  girl-company." 


WESTWAYS  53 

"  I  fear,"  said  Rivers,  "  that  may  be  the  case." 

"It  is  so,"  said  Mrs.  Ann  decisively,  pleased  with  his  sup 
port.  "  What  happened,  James  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  push  Leila  about  what  Tom  did.  John  slapped 
his  face  and  got  knocked  down.  He  got  up  and  went  at  Tom 
like  a  wildcat.  Tom  knocked  him  down  again  and  held  him. 
He  said  that  John  must  say  he  had  had  enough." 

"  He  did  n't,"  said  Rivers,  "  I  am  sure  he  did  n't." 

"  No,  Mark,  he  said  he  would  die  first,  which  was  what  he 
should  have  said.  Then  Billy  had  the  sense  to  pull  the  big 
boy  off,  and  as  Leila  was  near  tears  I  asked  no  more  ques 
tions.  It  was  really  most  satisfactory." 

"  How  can  you  say  that  ?  "  said  his  wife.     "  It  was  brutal." 

"  You  do  not  often  misunderstand  me,  Ann.  I  mean,  of 
course,  that  our  boy  did  the  right  thing.  How  does  it  strike 
you,  Mark?" 

He  had  a  distinct  intention  to  get  the  rector  into  trouble. 
"  Not  this  time,  Squire,"  and  he  laughed.  "  The  boy  did  what 
his  nature  bade  him.  Of  course,  being  a  nice  little  boy,  he 
should  have  remonstrated.  There  are  several  ways — " 

"  Thanks,"  said  Penhallow.  "  Of  course,  Ann,  the  playing 
with  Tom  will  end.  I  fancy  there  is  no  need  to  interfere." 

"  He  should  be  punished  for  rudeness  to  Leila,"  said  Mrs. 
Penhallow. 

"  Oh,  well,  he  's  a  rough  lad  and  like  enough  sorry.  How  can 
I  punish  him  without  making  too  much  of  a  row." 

"  You  are  quite  right,  as  I  see  it,"  said  Rivers.  "  Let  it  drop ; 
but,  indeed,  it  is  true  that  Leila  should  have  other  than  rough 
lads  as  school-companions." 

"  Oh,  Lord !  Rivers."      . 

"I  am  glad  to  agree  with  you  at  least  about  one  thing," 
said  Mrs.  Penhallow.  "  In  September  John  will  be  sixteen, 
and  Leila  a  year  or  so  younger.  She  is  now  simply  a  big,  dar 
ing,  strong  boy." 


54  WESTWAYS 

"If  you  think  that,  Ann,  you  are  oddly  mistaken." 

"  I  am,"  she  said ;  "  I  was.  It  was  only  one  end  of  my 
reasons  why  she  must  go  to  school.  Before  John  came  and 
when  we  had  cousins  here  —  girls,  she  simply  despised  them  or 
led  them  into  dreadful  scrapes." 

"  Well,  Ann,  we  will  talk  it  over  another  time." 

Rivers  smiled  and  Ann  Penhallow  went  out,  longing  to  at 
tend  to  the  swollen  face  now  bent  low  over  a  book.  The  two 
men  she  left  smoked  in  such  silence  as  is  one  of  the  privileges 
of  friendship.  At  last  Penhallow  said,  "  Of  course,  Mark,  my 
wife  is  right,  but  I  shall  miss  the  girl.  My  wife  cannot  ride 
with  me,  and  now  I  am  to  lose  Leila.  After  school  come  young 
men.  Confound  it,  rector,  I  wish  the  girl  had  less  promise 
of  beauty  —  of  —  well,  all  the  Greys  have  it  —  attractiveness 
for  our  sex.  Some  of  them  are  fools,  but  they  have  it  all 
the  same,  and  they  keep  it  to  the  end.  What  is  most  queer 
about  it  is  that  they  are  not  easily  won.  The  men  who  trouble 
hearts  for  a  game  do  not  win  these  women." 

"  Some  one  will  suffer,"  said  Rivers  reflectively.  He  won 
dered  if  the  wooing  of  Ann  Grey  by  this  masterful  man  had 
been  a  long  one.  A  moment  he  gave  to  remembrance  of  his 
own  long  and  tender  care  of  the  very  young  wife  he  had  won 
easily  and  seen  fade  with  terrible  slowness  as  her  life  let  fall 
its  joys  as  it  were  leaf  by  leaf,  with  bitter  sense  of  losing  the 
fair  heritage  of  youth.  Now  he  said,  "  Were  all  these  women, 
Squire,  who  had  the  gift  of  bewitchment,  good?" 

"  No,  now  and  then  hurtful,  or  honest  gentlewomen,  or  like 
Ann  Grey  too  entirely  good  for  this  wicked  world  — " 

"  As  Westways  knows,"  said  Rivers,  thinking  how  the  serene 
beauty  of  a  life  of  noble  ways  had  contributed  spiritual  charm 
to  whatever  Ann  Penhallow  had  of  attractiveness.  "  But,"  he 
went  on,  "  Leila  cannot  go  until  the  fall,  and  you  will  still  have 
the  boy.  I  had  my  doubts  of  your  method  of  education,  but  it 
has  worked  well.  He  has  a  good  mind  and  is  so  far  ahead  of 


WESTWAYS  55 

his  years  in  education  that  he  will  be  ready  for  college  too 
early." 

"  Well,  I  hate  to  think  of  these  changes.  He  must  learn 
to  box." 

"  Another  physical  virtue  to  be  added,"  laughed  Rivers. 

"  Yes,  he  must  learn  to  face  these  young  country  fellows." 
After  a  brief  pause  he  added,  "  I  am  looking  forward  to  Buch 
anan's  nomination  and  election,  Mark,  with  anxiety.  Both 
North  and  South  are  losing  temper." 

"Yes,  but  shall  you  vote  for  him?  I  presume  you  have 
always  been  a  Democrat,  more  or  less  —  less  of  late." 

"I  shall  vote  for  Fremont  if  he  is  nominated;  not  wholly  a 
wise  choice.  I  am  tired  of  what  seems  like  an  endless  effort 
North  and  South,  to  add  more  exasperations.  It  will  go  on  and 
on.  Each  section  seems  to  want  to  make  the  other  angry." 

"  It  is  not  Mrs.  Penhallow's  opinion,  I  fear.  The  wrongdoing 
is  all  on  our  side." 

Said  the  Squire  gravely,  "That  is  a  matter,  Mark,  we  never 
now  discuss  —  the  one  matter.  Her  brothers  in  Maryland,  are 
at  odds.  One  at  least  is  bitter,  as  I  gather  from  their  letters." 

"Well,  after  the  election  things  will  quiet  down,  as  usual." 

"They  will  not,  Mark.  I  know  the  South.  Unhappily  they 
think  we  live  by  the  creed  of  day-book  and  ledger.  We  as 
surely  misunderstand  them,  and  God  alone  knows  what  the 
future  holds  for  us." 

This  was  unusual  talk  for  Penhallow.  He  thought  much, 
but  talked  little,  and  his  wife's  resolute  attitude  of  opinions 
held  from  youth  was  the  one  trouble  of  an  unusually  happy 
life. 

"We  can  only  hope  for  the  best,"  said  Rivers.  "Time  is 
a  great  peacemaker." 

"  Or  not,"  returned  his  host  as  Rivers  rose.  "  Just  a  word, 
Mark,  before  you  go.  I  am  desirous  that  you  should  not  mis 
understand  me  in  regard  to  my  politics.  I  see  that  slavery  is 


56  WESTWAYS 

to  be  more  and  more  in  question.  My  own  creed  is,  '  let  it  alone, 
obey  the  laws,  return  the  runaways, —  oh !  whether  you  like  it 
or  not, —  but  no  more  slave  territory/  And  for  me,  my  friend, 
the  States  are  one  country  and  above  all  else,  above  slave  ques 
tions,  is  that  of  an  unbroken  union.  I  shall  vote  for  Fremont. 
I  cannot  go  to  party  meetings  and  speak  for  him  because, 
Mark,  I  am  in  doubt  about  the  man,  and  because  —  oh!  you 
know." 

Yes,  he  knew  more  or  less,  but  knowing  did  not  quite  ap 
prove.  The  Squire  of  Grey  Pine  rarely  spoke  at  length,  but 
now  he  longed,  as  he  gave  some  further  clue  to  his  reticence, 
to  make  public  a  political  creed  which  was  not  yet  so  fortified 
by  the  logic  of  events  as  to  be  fully  capable  of  defence. 

"  The  humorous  side  of  it,"  he  said,  "  is  that  my  very  good 
wife  has  been  doing  some  pretty  ardent  electioneering  while  I 
am  sitting  still,  because  to  throw  my  weight  into  the  local  contest 
would  oblige  me  to  speak  out  and  declare  my  whole  political 
religion  of  which  I  am  not  quite  secure  enough  to  talk  freely." 

The  young  rector  looked  at  his  older  friend,  who  was  un 
easy  between  his  uncertain  sense  of  duty  and  his  desire  not 
to  go  among  people  at  the  mills  and  in  the  town  and  struggle 
with  his  wife  for  votes. 

"  I  may,  Mark,  I  may  do  no  more  than  let  it  be  known  how 
I  shall  vote.  That  is  all.  It  will  be  of  use.  I  could  wish  to 
do  more.  I  think  that  here  and  at  the  mills  the  feeling  is 
rather  strong  for  Buchanan,  but  why  I  cannot  see." 

Mrs.  Ann  had  been  really  active,  and  her  constant  kindness 
at  the  mills  and  in  the  little  town  gave  to  her  wishes  a  certain 
influential  force  among  these  isolated  groups  of  people  who  in 
their  remoteness  had  not  been  disturbed  by  the  aggressive  policy 
of  the  South. 

"  Of  course,  Mark,  my  change  of  opinion  will  excite  remark. 
Whoever  wins,  I  shall  be  uneasy  about  the  future.  Must  you 
go?  Good-night." 


WESTWAYS  57 

He  went  to  the  hall  door  with  the  rector,  and  then  back  to 
his  pipe,  dismissing  the  subject  for  the  time.  On  his  return, 
he  found  John  in  the  library  looking  at  the  sword  hanging  over 
the  mantelpiece.  "Well,  Jack,"  he  said,  "a  penny  for  your 
thoughts/' 

"  Oh,  I  was  thinking  what  the  sword  had  seen." 

"I  hope  it  will  see  no  more,  but  it  may  —  it  may.  Now  I 
want  to  say  a  word  to  you.  You  had  a  fight  with  Tom 
McGregor  and  got  the  worst  of  it." 

"I  did." 

"  I  do  not  ask  why.     You  seem  to  have  shown  some  pluck." 

"  I  don't  know,  uncle.  I  was  angry,  and  I  just  slapped  his 
face.  He  deserved  it." 

"Very  well,  but  never  slap.  I  suppose  that  is  the  French 
schoolboy  way  of  fighting.  Hit  hard  —  get  in  the  first  blow." 

"Yes,  sir.    I  hadn't  a  chance." 

"You  must  take  my  old  cadet  boxing-gloves  from  under  the 
sword.  I  have  spoken  to  Sam,  the  groom.  I  saw  him  last 
year  in  a  bout  with  the  butcher's  boy.  After  he  has  knocked 
you  about  for  a  month,  you  will  be  better  able  to  take  care  of 
the  Penhallow  nose." 

"  I  shall  like  that." 

"  You  won't,  but  it  will  help  to  fill  out  your  chest."  Then 
he  laughed,  "  Did  you  ever  get  that  cane  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  Billy  found  it.  Leila  gave  him  twenty-five  cents 
for  it,  and  now  she  won't  give  it  to  me." 

"Well,  well,  is  that  so?    The  ways  of  women  are  strange." 

"  I  don't  see  why  she  keeps  it,  uncle." 

"  Nor  I.  Now  go  to  bed,  it  is  late.  She  is  a  bit  of  a  tease, 
John.  Mark  Eivers  says  she  is  now  just  one  half  of  the  riddle 
called  woman." 

John  understood  well  enough  that  he  was  some  day  expected 
by  his  uncle  to  have  it  out  with  Tom.  He  got  two  other  bits 
of  advice  on  this  matter.  The  rector  detained  him  after 


58  WESTWAYS 

school,  a  few  days  later.  "How  goes  the  swimming,  John?" 
he  asked. 

The  Squire  early  in  the  summer  had  taken  this  matter  in 
hand,  and  as  Ann  Penhallow  said,  with  the  West  Point  methods 
of  kill  or  cure.  John  replied  to  the  rector  that  he  was  now 
given  leave  to  swim  with  the  Westways  boys.  The  pool  was  an 
old  river-channel,  now  closed  above,  and  making  a  quiet  deep 
pool  such  as  in  England  is  called  a  "  backwater  "  and  in  Canada 
a  "bogan."  The  only  access  was  through  the  Penhallow 
grounds,  but  this  was  never  denied. 

"  Does  Tom  McGregor  swim  there  ?  "  asked  Eivers. 

e(  Yes,  and  the  other  boys.  It  is  great  fun  now ;  it  was  not 
at  first." 

"  About  Tom,  John.  I  hope  you  have  made  friends  with 
him." 

Said  John,  with  something  of  his  former  grown-up  man 
ner,  "  It  appears  to  me  that  we  never  were  friends.  I  regret, 
sir,  that  it  seems  to  you  desirable." 

"But,  John,  it  is.  For  two  Christian  lads  like  you  to  keep 
up  a  quarrel — " 

"  He  's  a  heathen,  sir.  I  told  him  yesterday  that  he  ought 
to  apologize  to  Leila." 

"  And  what  did  he  say  ?  " 

"He  said,  he  guessed  I  wanted  another  licking.  That's  the 
kind  of  Christian  he  is." 

"  I  must  speak  to  him." 

"  Oh,  please  not  to  do  that !  He  will  think  I  am  afraid." 
Here  were  the  Squire  and  Eivers  on  two  sides  of  this  question. 

"Are  you  afraid,  John?  You  were  once  frank  with  me 
about  it." 

"  I  do  not  think,  Mr.  Rivers,  you  ought  to  ask  me  that." 
He  drew  up  his  figure  as  he  spoke. 

The  rector  would  have  liked  to  have  whistled  —  a  rare  habit 
with  him  when  alone  and  not  in  one  of  his  moods  of  depres- 


WESTWAYS 

sion.     He  said,  "I  beg  your  pardon,  John,"  and  felt  that\ 
had  not  only  done  no  good,  but  had  made  a  mistake. 

John  said,  "  I  am  greatly  obliged,  sir."  When  half-way  home 
he  went  back  and  met  Kivers  at  his  gate. 

"Well,"  said  the  rector,  "left  anything?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  his  young  figure  stiffening,  his  head 
up.  "  I  was  n't  honest,  sir."  And  again  with  his  old  half- 
lost  formal  way,  "I  —  I  —  you  might  have  thought  —  I  was  n't 
—  quite  honourable.  I  mean  —  I  '11  never  be  able  to  forgive 
that  blackguard  until  I  can  —  can  get  even  with  him.  You  see, 
gir?" 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  said  Rivers,  who  did  not  see,  or  know  for  a 'mo 
ment  what  to  say.  "  Well,  think  it  over,  John.  He  is  more  a 
rough  cub  than  a  blackguard.  Think  it  over." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  and  John  walked  away. 

The  rector  looked  after  the  boy  thinking  —  he  's  the  Squire 
all  over,  with  more  imagination,  a  gentleman  to  the  core.  But 
how  wonderfully  changed,  and  in  only  eight  months. 

John  was  now,  this  July,  allowed  to  ride  with  Leila  when 
his  uncle  was  otherwise  occupied.  He  had  been  mounted  on 
a  safe  old  horse  and  was  not  spared  advice  from  Leila,  who 
enjoyed  a  little  the  position  of  mistress  of  equestrianism.  She 
was  slyly  conscious  of  her  comrade's  mildly  resentful  state  of 
mind. 

"Don't  pull  on  him  so  hard,  John.  The  great  thing  is 
to  get  intimate  with  a  horse's  mouth.  He's  pretty  rough,  but 
if  you  would  n't  keep  so  stiff,  you  would  n't  feel  it." 

John  began  to  be  a  little  impatient.  "  Let  us  talk  of  some 
thing  else  than  horses.  I  got  a  good  dose  of  advice  yesterday 
from  Uncle  Jim.  I  am  afraid  that  you  will  be  sent  to  school 
in  the  fall.  I  hate  schools.  You'll  have  no  riding  and  snow 
balling,  and  I  shall  miss  you.  You  see,  I  was  never  friends 
with  a  girl  before." 

"  Uncle  Jim  would  never  let  me  go." 


60  WESTWAYS 

"But  Aunt  Ann?"  he  queried.  "I  heard  her  tell  Mr. 
Rivers  that  you  must  go.  She  said  that  you  were  too  old,  or 
would  be,  for  snowballing  and  rough  games  and  needed  the 
society  of  young  ladies." 

"  Young  ladies !  "  said  Leila  scornfully.  "  We  had  two  from 
Baltimore  year  before  last.  I  happened  to  hit  one  of  them 
in  the  eye  with  a  snowball,  and  she  howled  worse  than  Billy 
when  he  plays  bear." 

"  Oh,  you  '11  like  it  after  a  while,"  he  said,  with  anticipative 
wisdom,  "  but  I  shall  be  left  to  play  with  Tom.  I  want  you  to 
miss  me.  It  is  too  horrid." 

"I  shall  miss  you;  indeed,  I  shall.  I  suppose  I  am  only  a 
girl,  but  I  won't  forget  what  you  did  when  that  boy  was  rude. 
I  used  to  think  once  you  were  like  a  girl  and  just  afraid.  I 
never  yet  thanked  you,"  and  she  leaned  over  and  laid  a  hand 
for  a  moment  on  his.  "  I  believe  you  would  n't  be  afraid  now 
to  do  what  I  dared  you  to  do." 

He  laughed.  There  had  been  many  such  dares.  "Which 
dare  was  it,  Leila  ?  " 

"  Oh,  to  go  at  night  —  at  night  to  the  Indian  graves.  I  tried 
it  once  and  got  half  way — " 

"  And  was  scalped  all  the  way  back,  I  suppose." 

"  I  was,  John.     Try  it  yourself." 

"  I  did,  a  month  after  I  came." 

"  Oh !  and  you  never  told  me." 

"  No,  why  should  I  ?  " 

It  had  not  had  for  him  the  quality  of  bodily  peril.  It  was 
somehow  far  less  alarming.  He  had  started  with  fear,  but 
was  of  no  mind  to  confess.  They  rode  on  in  silence,  until  at 
last  she  said.  "  I  hope  you  won't  fight  that  boy  again." 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  "  I  did  n't  mind  it  so  very  much." 

She  was  hinting  that  he  would  again  be  beaten.  "But  I 
minded,  John.  I  hated  it." 

He  would  say  no  more.     He  had  now  had,  as  concerned  Tom, 


WESTWAYS  61 

three  advisers.  He  kept  his  own  counsel,  with  the  not  unusual 
reticence  of  a  boy.  He  did  not  wish  to  be  pitied  on  account 
of  what  he  did  not  consider  defeat,  and  wanted  no  one  to  dis 
cuss  it.  He  was  better  pleased  when  a  week  later  the  English 
groom  talked  to  him  after  the  boxing-lesson.  "  That  fellow, 
Tom,  told  me  about  your  slapping  him.  He  said  that  he  did  n't 
want  to  lick  you  if  you  had  n't  hit  him." 

"  It 's  not  a  thing  I  want  to  talk  about,  Sam.  I  had  to  hit 
him  and  I  didn't  know  how;  that's  all.  Put  on  the  gloves 
again." 

"  There,  that  '11  do,  sir.  You  're  light  on  your  pins,  and  he 's 
sort  of  slow.  If  you  ever  have  to  fight  him',  just  remember  that 
and  keep  cool  and  keep  moving." 

The  young  boxing-tutor  was  silently  of  opinion  that  John 
Penhallow  would  not  be  satisfied  until  he  had  faced  Tom  again. 
John  made  believe,  as  we  say,  that  he  had  no  such  desire.  He 
had,  however,  long  been  caressed  and  flattered  into  the  belief 
that  he  was  important,  and  was,  in  his  uncle's  army  phrase,  to 
be  obeyed  and  respected  accordingly  by  inferiors.  His  whole 
life  now  for  many  months  had,  however,  contributed  experiences 
contradictory  to  his  tacitly  accepted  boy-views.  Sometimes  in 
youth  the  mental  development  and  conceptions  of  what  seem 
desirable  in  life  appear  to  make  abrupt  advances  without  ap 
parent  bodily  changes.  More  wholesomely  and  more  rarely  at 
the  plastic  age  characteristics  strengthen  and  mind  and  body 
both  gather  virile  capacity.  When  John  Penhallow  met  his 
cousin  on  his  first  arrival,  he  was  in  enterprise,  vigour,  general 
good  sense  and  normal  relation  to  life,  really  far  younger  than 
Leila.  In  knowledge,  mind  and  imagination,  he  was  far 
in  advance.  In  these  months  he  had  passed  her  in  the  race  of 
life.  He  felt  it,  but  in  many  ways  was  also  dimly  aware  that 
Leila  was  less  expressively  free  in  word  and  action,  sometimes 
to  his  surprise  liking  to  be  alone  at  the  age  when  rare  moods  of 
mild  melancholy  trouble  the  time  of  rapid  female  florescence. 


62  WESTWAYS 

There  was  still  between  them  acceptance  of  equality,  with  on 
his  part  a  certain  growth  of  respectful  consideration,  on  hers 
a  gentle  perception  of  his  gain  in  manliness  and  of  deference  to 
his  experience  of  a  world  of  which  she  knew  as  yet  nothing,  but 
with  some  occasional  resentment  when  the  dominating  man  in 
the  boy  came  to  the  surface.  When  his  aunt  praised  his  man 
ners,  Leila  said,  "  He  is  n't  always  so  very  gentle."  When  his 
uncle  laughed  at  his  awkward  horsemanship,  she  defended  him. 
reminding  her  uncle,  to  his  amusement,  of  her  own  early  mis 
haps. 


CHAPTEK  V 

JOHN'S  intimacy  with  the  Squire  prospered.  Leila  had 
been  a  gay  comrade,  but  not  as  yet  so  interested  as  to  tempt 
him  to  discussion  of  the  confusing  politics  of  the  day.  "  She 
has  not  as  yet  a  seeking  mind,"  said  the  rector,  who  in  the  con 
fessional  of  the  evening  pipe  saw  more  and  more  plainly  that 
this  was  a  divided  house.  The  Squire  could  not  talk  politics 
with  Ann,  his  wife.  She  held  a  changeless  belief  in  regard  to 
slavery,  a  conviction  of  its  value  to  owner  and  owned  too  posi 
tive  to  be  tempted  into  discussing  it  with  people  who  knew  so 
little  of  it  and  did  not  agree  with  her.  James  Penhallow,  like 
thousands  in  that  day  of  grim  self-questioning,  had  been  forced 
to  reconsider  opinions  long  held,  and  was  reaching  conclusions 
which  he  learned  by  degrees  made  argument  with  the  simplicity 
of  his  wife's  political  creed  more  and  more  undesirable.  Leila 
was  too  young  to  be  interested.  The  rector  was  intensely 
anti-slavery  and  saw  but  one  side  of  the  ominous  questions  which 
were  bewildering  the  largest  minds.  The  increasing  interest 
in  his  nephew  was,  therefore,  a  source  of  real  relief  to  the  uncle. 
Meanwhile,  the  financial  difficulties  of  the  period  demanded 
constant  thought  of  the  affairs  of  the  mills  and  took  him  away 
at  times  to  Philadelphia  or  Pittsburgh.  Thus  the  summer  ran 
on  to  an  end.  Buchanan  and  Breckenridge  had  been  nominated 
and  the  Republicans  had  accepted  Fremont  and  Dayton. 

Birthdays  were  always  pleasantly  remembered  at  Grey  Pine, 
and  on  September  20th,  when  John,  aged  sixteen,  came  down 
to  breakfast,  as  he  took  his  seat  Ann  came  behind  him  and  said 
as  she  kissed  him,  "You  are  sixteen  to-day;  here  is  my  pres 
ent." 

63 


64  WESTWAYS 

The  boy  flushed  with  pleasure  as  he  received  a  pair  of  silver 
spurs.  "  Oh !  thank  you,  Aunt  Ann/'  he  cried  as  he  rose. 

"  And  here  is  mine/'  said  Leila,  and  laughing  asked  with  both 
hands  behind  her  back,  "  Which  hand,  John  ?  " 

"Oh!  both  — both," 

"  No." 

"  Then  the  one  nearest  the  heart."  Some  quick  reflection 
passed  through  Ann  Penhallow's  mind  of  this  being  like  an 
older  man's  humour. 

Leila  gave  him  a  riding-whip.  He  had  a  moment's  return 
of  the  grown-up  courtesies  he  had  been  taught,  and  bowed  as  he 
thanked  her,  saying,  "  Now,  I  suppose,  I  am  your  knight,  Aunt 
Ann." 

"And  mine,"  said  Leila. 

"  I  do  not  divide  with  any  one,"  said  Mrs.  Ann.  "  Where  is 
your  present,  James  ?  " 

He  had  kept  his  secret.  "  Come  and  see,"  he  cried.  He  led 
them  to  the  porch.  "  That  is  mine,  John."  A  thorough-bred 
horse  stood  at  the  door,  saddled  and  bridled.  Ann  thought  the 
gift  extravagant,  but  held  her  tongue. 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Jim,"  said  John.  His  heart  was  too  full  for  the 
words  he  wanted  to  say.  "  For  me  —  for  me."  He  knew  what 
the  gift  meant. 

"  You  must  name  him,"  said  Leila.  "  I  rode  him  once,  John. 
He  has  no  name.  Uncle  Jim  said  he  should  have  no  name  until 
he  had  an  owner.  Now  I  know." 

John  stood  patting  the  horse's  neck.  "  Was  n't  his  mother  a 
Virginia  mare,  James  ?  "  said  Ann. 

"  Yes." 

"  Oh,  then  call  him  Dixy." 

For  a  moment  the  Squire  was  of  a  mind  to  object,  but  said 
gaily,  "  By  all  means,  Ann,  call  him  Dixy  if  you  like,  and  now 
breakfast,  please."  Here  they  heard  Dixy's  pedigree  at  length. 

"  Above  all,  Jack,  remember  that  Dixy  is  of  gentle  birth ; 


WESTWAYS  65 

make  friends  with  him.  He  may  misbehave;  never,  sir,  lose 
your  temper  with  him.  Be  wary  of  use  of  whip  or  spur." 

There  was  more  of  it,  until  Mrs.  Ann  said,  "  Your  coffee  will 
be  cold.  It  is  one  of  your  uncle's  horse-sermons." 

John  laughed.  How  delightful  it  all  was !  "  May  I  ride  to 
day  with  you,  uncle  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  want  to  introduce  you  to  —  Dixy  —  yes  — " 

"  And  may  I  ride  with  you  ?  "  asked  Leila. 

"  No,  my  dear,"  said  the  aunt,  "  I  want  you  at  home.  There 
is  the  raspberry  jam  and  currant  jelly  and  tomato  figs." 

"  Gracious,  Leila,  we  shall  not  have  a  ride  for  a  week." 

"  Oh,  not  that  bad,  John,"  said  Mrs.  Ann,  "  only  two  days 
and  —  and  Sunday.  After  that  you  may  have  her,  and  I  shall 
be  glad  to  be  rid  of  her.  She  eats  as  much  as  she  preserves." 

"  Oh !  Aunt  Ann." 

A  few  days  went  by,  and  as  it  rained  in  the  afternoon  there 
was  no  riding,  but  there  was  the  swimming-pool,  and  for  rain 
John  now  cared  very  little.  On  his  way  he  met  a  half  dozen 
village  lads.  They  swam,  and  hatched  (it  was  John's  device) 
a  bit  of  mischief  involving  Billy,  who  was  fond  of  watching 
their  sports  when  he  was  tired  of  doing  chores  about  the  stable. 
John  heard  of  it  later.  The  likelihood  of  unpleasant  results 
from  their  mischief  was  discussed  as  they  walked  homeward. 
There  were  in  all  five  boys  from  the  village,  with  whom  by  this 
time  John  had  formed  democratic  intimacies  and  moderate  lik 
ings  which  would  have  shocked  his  mother.  He  had  had  no 
quarrels  since  long  ago  he  had  resented  Tom  McGregor's  rude 
ness  to  Leila  and  had  suffered  the  humiliation  of  defeat  in  his 
brief  battle  with  the  bigger  boy.  The  easy  victor,  Tom,  had 
half  forgotten  or  ignored  it,  as  boys  do.  Now  as  they  consid 
ered  an  unpleasant  situation,  Joe  Grace,  the  son  of  the  Baptist 
preacher,  broke  the  silence.  He  announced  what  was  the  gen 
eral  conclusion,  halting  for  emphasis  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  say,  fellows,  there  will  be  an  awf ^1  row." 


66  WESTWAYS 

"That's  so,"  said  William,  the  butcher's  son. 

"  Anyhow,"  remarked  Ashton,  whose  father  was  a  foreman  at 
the  mills,  "  it  was  great  fun ;  did  n't  think  Billy  could  run  like 
that." 

It  will  be  observed  that  the  young  gentleman  of  ten  months 
ago  had  become  comfortably  democratic  in  his  associations  and 
had  shed  much  of  his  too-fine  manners  as  the  herding  instincts 
of  the  boy  made  the  society  of  comrades  desirable  when  Leila's 
company  was  not  attainable. 

"  Oh ! "  he  said, "  Billy  can  run,  but  I  had  none  of  the 
fun."  Then  he  asked  anxiously,  "Did  Billy  get  as  far  as  the 
house?" 

"You  bet,"  said  Baynton,  the  son  of  the  carpenter,  "I  saw 
him,  heard  him  shout  to  the  Squire.  Guess  it's  all  over  town 
by  this  time." 

"  Anyhow  it  was  you,  John,  set  it  up,"  said  a  timid  little  boy, 
the  child  of  the  blacksmith. 

"  That 's  so,"  said  Grace,  "  guess  you  '11  catch  it  hot." 

John  considered  the  last  spokesman  with  scorn  as  Tom,  his 
former  foe,  said,  "  Shut  up,  Joe  Grace,  you  were  quick  enough 
to  go  into  it  —  and  me  too." 

"  Thanks,"  said  John,  reluctantly  acknowledging  the  confes 
sion  of  partnership  in  the  mischief,  "  I  am  glad  one  of  you  has 
a  little  —  well,  honour." 

They  went  on  their  way  in  silence  and  left  him  alone.  Noth 
ing  was  said  of  the  matter  at  the  dinner-table,  where  to  John's 
relief  Mr.  Eivers  was  a  guest.  John  observed,  however,  that 
Mrs.  Ann  had  less  of  her  usual  gaiety,  and  he  was  not  much 
surprised  when  his  uncle  leaving  the  table  said,  "  Come  into 
the  library,  John."  The  Captain  lighted  his  pipe  and  sat  down. 

"  Now,  sir,"  he  said,  "  Billy  is  a  poor  witness.  I  desire  to 
hear  what  happened." 

The  stiffened  hardness  of  the  speaker  in  a  measure  affected 
the  boy.  He  stood  for  a  moment  silent.  The  Captain,  impa- 


WESTWAYS  67 

tient,  exclaimed,  "Now,  I  want  the  simple  truth  and  nothing 
else." 

The  boy  felt  himself  flush.  "  I  do  not  lie,  sir.  I  always  tell 
the  truth." 

"  Of  course  —  of  course,"  returned  Penhallow.  "  This  thing 
has  annoyed  me.  Sit  down  and  tell  me  all  about  it." 

Eather  more  at  his  ease  John  said,  "  I  went  to  swim  with 
some  of  the  village  boys,  sir.  We  played  tag  in  the  water  — " 

The  Squire  had  at  once  a  divergent  interest,  "  Tag  —  tag  — 
swimming?  Who  invented  that  game?  Good  idea  —  how  do 
you  play  it  ?  " 

John  a  little  relieved  continued,  "  You  see,  uncle,  you  can 
dive  to  escape  or  come  up  under  a  fellow  to  tag  him.  It  's  just 
splendid !  "  he  concluded  with  enthusiasm. 

Then  the  Captain  remembered  that  this  was  a  domestic  court- 
martial,  and  self-reminded  said,  "  The  tag  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  matter  in  question ;  go  on." 

"We  got  tired  and  sat  on  the  bank.  Billy  was  wandering 
about.  He  never  can  keep  still.  I  proposed  that  I  should  hide 
in  the  bushes  and  the  boys  should  tell  Billy  I  was  drowned." 

"  Indeed ! " 

"We  went  into  the  water;  I  hid  in  the  bushes  and  the  boys 
called  out  I  was  drowned.  When  Billy  heard  it,  he  gathered 
up  all  my  clothes  and  my  shoes,  and  before  I  could  get  out  he 
just  yelled,  ' John's  drowned,  I  must  take  his  clothes  home  to 
his  poor  aunt.'  Then  he  ran.  The  last  I  heard  was,  '  He  's 
drowned,  he  's  drowned ! ' : 

"  And  then  ?  " 

"  Well,  the  other  fellows  put  on  something  and  went  after  him ; 
they  caught  him  in  the  cornfield  and  took  away  my  clothes.  Then 
Billy  ran  to  the  house.  That  is  all  I  know." 

The  Squire  was  suppressing  his  mirth.  "  Are  n't  you 
ashamed  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  but  I  am  sorry." 


68  WESTWAYS 

"I  don't  like  practical  jokes.  Billy  kept  on  lamenting  your 
fate.  He  might  have  told  Leila  or  your  aunt.  Luckily  I  re 
ceived  his  news,  and  no  one  else.  You  will  go  to  Westways  and 
say  there  is  to  be  no  swimming  for  a  week  in  my  pool." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  You  are  not  to  ride  Dixy  or  any  other  horse  for  ten  days." 
This  was  terrible.  "  Now,  be  off  with  you,  and  tell  Mr.  Rivers 
to  come  in." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

When  Rivers  sat  down,  the  Squire  suppressing  his  laughter 
related  the  story.  "  The  boy  's  coming  on,  Mark.  He  's  Pen- 
hallow  all  over." 

"  But,  Squire,  by  the  boy's  looks  I  infer  you  did  not  tell  him 
that." 

"  Oh,  hardly.  I  hate  practical  jokes,  and  I  have  stopped  his 
riding  for  ten  days." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  right,"  and  they  fell  to  talking  politics 
and  of  the  confusion  of  parties  with  three  candidates  in  the 
field. 

Mrs.  Ann  who  suspected  what  had  been  the  result  of  this  court- 
martial  was  disposed  towards  pity,  but  John  retired  to  a  corner 
and  a  book  and  slipped  away  to  bed  early.  Penalties  he  had  suf 
fered  at  school,  but  this  was  a  terrible  experience,  and  now  he 
was  to  let  the  other  boys  know  that  the  swimming-pool  was 
closed  for  a  week.  At  breakfast  he  made  believe  to  be  contented 
in  mind,  and  asked  in  his  best  manner  if  his  uncle  had  any  er 
rands  for  him  in  Westways  or  at  the  mills.  When  the  Captain 
said  no  and  remarked  further  that  if  he  wished  to  walk,  he  would 
find  the  wood-roads  cooler  than  the  highway  John  expressed 
himself  grateful  for  his  advice  with  such  a  complete  return  of 
his  formal  manner  as  came  near  to  unmasking  the  inner  amuse 
ment  which  the  Squire  was  getting  from  the  evident  annoyance 
he  was  giving  Mrs.  Ann,  who  thought  that  he  was  needlessly  ir 
ritating  a  boy  who  to  her  mind  was  hurt  and  sore. 


WESTWAYS  69 

"Come,  Leila,"  she  said  rising.  "We  may  meet  you  in  the 
village,  John;  and  do  get  your  hair  cut,  and  see  Mr.  Spooner 
and  tell  him  —  no,  I  will  write  it." 

John  was  pleased  to  feel  that  he  had  other  reasons  for  visiting 
Westways  than  his  uncle's  order.  He  went  down  the  avenue 
whistling,  and  in  no  hurry. 

Leila  had  some  dim  comprehension  of  John's  state  of  mind. 
Of  Billy  and  of  the  Squire's  court-martial  she  had  heard  from 
Mrs.  Ann,  and  although  that  lady  said  little,  the  girl  very  well 
knew  that  her  aunt  thought  her  husband  had  been  too  severe. 
She  stood  on  the  porch,  vaguely  troubled  for  this  comrade,  and 
watched  him  as  he  passed  from  view,  taking  a  short  cut  through 
the  trees.  The  girl  checked  something  like  a  sob  as  she  went 
into  the  house. 

It  was  the  opinion  of  the  county  that  Mrs.  Penhallow  was  a 
right  good  woman  and  masterful ;  but  of  Leila  the  judgment  of 
the  village  was  that  she  was  just  sweet  through  and  through. 
The  rector  said  she  radiated  the  good-nature  of  perfect  health. 
What  more  there  was  time  would  show.  Westways  knew  well 
these  two  young  people,  and  Leila  was  simply  Leila  to  nearly 
every  one.  "  Quite  time,"  reflected  Mrs.  Ann,  "  that  she  was 
Miss  Leila."  As  she  went  with  her  through  the  town  there  were 
pleasant  greetings,  until  at  last  they  came  to  the  butcher's.  Mr. 
Pole,  large  after  the  way  of  his  craft,  appeared  in  a  white  apron. 
"  Well,  now,  how  you  do  grow,  Leila." 

"  Not  enough  yet,"  said  Leila. 

"  Fine  day,  Mrs.  Penhallow."  He  was  a  little  uneasy,  divin 
ing  her  errand. 

"  Now,  Pole,  before  I  make  a  permanent  change  to  the  butcher 
at  the  mills,  I  wish  to  say  that  it  is  because  a  pound  of  beef 
weighs  less  at  Grey  Pine  than  in  your  shop." 

At  this  time  John  was  added  to  the  hearers,  being  in  search 
of  William  Pole  with  the  Squire's  order  about  the  swimming. 
He  waited  until  his  aunt  should  be  through.  He  was  a  lit- 


70  WESTWAYS 

tie  amused,  which  on  the  whole  was,  just  then,  good  for  him. 

"  Now  ma'am,  after  all  these  years  you  won't  drop  me  like 
that." 

"  Short  weights  are  reason  enough." 

Leila  listened,  sorry  for  Pole,  who  reddened  and  replied, 
"  Fact  is,  ma'am,  I  don't  always  do  the  weighing  myself,  and  the 
boys  they  are  real  careless.  What  with  Hannah's  asthma  keep 
ing  me  awake  and  a  lot  of  fools  loafing  around  and  talking  poli 
tics,  I  do  wonder  I  ever  get  things  right.  It 's  Fremont  and  it 's 
Buchanan  —  a  man  can't  tell  what  to  do." 

Mrs.  Penhallow  was  not  usually  to  be  turned  aside,  and  meant 
now  to  deal  out  even  justice.  But  if  the  butcher  knew  it  or  not, 
she  wa"s  offered  what  she  liked  and  at  home  could  not  have.  "  I 
hope,  Pole,  you  are  not  going  to  vote  for  Fremont." 

"  Well,  ma'am,  it  ain't  easy  to  decide.  I  've  always  followed 
the  Squire."  Ann  Penhallow  knew,  alas!  what  this  would 
mean. 

"  I  Ve  been  thinking  I  '11  stand  to  vote  for  Buchanan.  Was 
you  wanting  a  saddle  of  lamb  to-day?  I  have  one  here,  and  a 
finer  I  never  saw." 

"  Well,  Pole,  keep  your  politics  and  your  weights  in  order. 
Send  me  the  lamb." 

The  butcher  smiled  as  Mrs.  Ann  turned  away.  Whether  the 
lady  of  Grey  Pine  was  conscious  of  having  bought  a  vote  or  not, 
it  was  pretty  clear  to  her  nephew  that  Peter  Pole's  weights  would 
not  be  further  questioned  as  long  as  his  politics  were  Democratic. 

When  his  aunt  had  gone,  John  called  Bill  Pole  out  of  the  shop 
and  said,  "  There  's  to  be  no  swimming  for  a  week,  for  any  of 
us.  Where  are  the  other  fellows  ?  " 

"  Guessed  we  would  catch  it.  They  're  playing  ball  back  of 
the  church.  I  '11  go  along  with  you." 

He  was  pleased  to  see  how  the  others  would  take  their  depriva 
tion  of  a  swim  in  the  September  heat.  They  came  on  the  other 
culprits,  who  called  to  John  to  come  and  play.  He  was  not  so 


WESTWAYS  71 

minded  and  was  in  haste  to  get  through  with  a  disagreeable 
errand.  As  he  hesitated,  Pole  eager  to  distribute  the  un 
pleasant  news  cried  out,  "  The  Squire  says  that  we  can't  swim  in 
the  pool  for  a  week  —  none  of  us.  How  do  you  fellows  like 
that?" 

"  It 's  mighty  mean  of  him." 

"  What 's  that  ?  "  said  John.  "  He  was  right  and  you  know 
it.  I  don't  like  it  any  better  than  you  do  —  but  — " 

Bill  Baynton,  the  youngest  boy,  broke  in,  "Who  told  the 
Squire  what  fellows  was  in  it  ?  " 

"  It  was  n't  Billy,"  said  another  lad ;  "  he  just  kept  on  yelling 
you  was  dead." 

"  Look  here,"  said  Tom  McGregor  turning  to  John,  "  did  you 
tell  the  Squire  we  fellows  set  it  up  ?  " 

John  was  insulted.  He  knew  well  the  playground  code  of 
honour,  but  remembered  in  time  his  boxing-master's  advice,  the 
more  mad  you  are  the  cooler  you  keep  yourself.  He  replied  in 
his  old  formal  way,  "  The  question  is  one  you  have  no  right  to 
ask ;  it  is  an  insult." 

To  the  boys  the  failure  to  say  "  no  "  meant  evasion.  "  Then, 
of  course,  you  told,"  returned  the  older  lad.  "  If  I  was  n't 
afraid  you  'd  run  home  and  complain,  I  'd  spank  you." 

It  had  been  impossible  for  John  to  be  angry  with  his  uncle, 
although  the  punishment  and  the  shame  of  carrying  the  news 
to  the  other  boys  he  felt  to  be  a  too  severe  penalty.  But  here 
was  cause  for  letting  loose  righteous  anger.  He  had  meant  to 
wait,  having  been  wisely  counselled  by  his  boxing-master  to  be  in 
no  haste  to  challenge  his  enemy,  until  further  practice  had  made 
success  possible;  but  now  his  rising  wrath  overcame  his  pru 
dence,  "Well,  try  it,"  he  said.  "You  beat  me  once.  If  you 
think  I  '11  tell  if  I  am  licked,  I  assure  you,  you  are  safe.  I  took 
the  whole  blame  about  Billy  and  I  was  asked  no  names." 

Tom  hesitated  and  said,  "  I  never  heard  that." 

"I  will  accept  an  apology,"  said  John  in  his  most  dignified 


78  WESTWAYS 

way.  The  boys  laughed.  John  flushed  a  little,  and  as  Tom  re 
mained  silent  added,  "  If  you  won't,  then  lick  me  if  you  can." 

As  he  spoke,  he  slipped  off  his  coat  and  rolled  up  his  sleeves. 
The  long  lessons  in  self-defence  had  given  him  some  confidence 
and,  what  was  as  useful,  had  developed  chest  and  arms. 

"  Hit  him,  Tom,"  said  the  small  boy.  In  a  moment  the  fight 
was  on,  the  non-combatants  delighted. 

To  Tom's  surprise  his  wild  blows  somehow  failed  to  get  home. 
It  was  characteristic  of  John  then  as  in  later  days  that  he  be 
came  cool  as  he  realized  his  danger,  while  Tom  quite  lost  his  head 
as  the  success  of  the  defence  disappointed  his  attack.  To  hit 
hard,  to  rush  in  and  throw  his  enemy,  was  all  he  had  of  the 
tactics  of  offence.  The  younger  lad,  untouched,  light  on  his 
feet,  was  continually  shifting  his  ground;  then  at  last  he  struck 
right  and  left.  He  had  not  weight  enough  to  knock  down  his 
foe,  but  as  Tom  staggered,  John  leaped  aside  and  felt  the  joy  of 
battle  as  he  got  in  a  blow  under  the  ear  and  Tom  fell. 

"  Get  on  him  —  hit  him/'  cried  the  boys.  "  By  George,  if  he 
ain't  licked!" 

John  stood  still.  Tom  rose,  and  as  he  made  a  furious  rush 
at  the  victor,  a  loud  voice  called  out,  "  Halloa !  quit  that." 

Both  boys  stood  still  as  Mark  Eivers  climbed  over  the  fence 
and  stood  between  them.  John  was  not  sorry  for  the  inter 
ruption.  He  was  well  aware  that  in  the  rough  and  tumble  of 
a  close  he  had  not  weight  enough  to  encounter  what  would 
have  lost  him  the  fight  he  had  so  far  won.  He  stood  still 
panting,  smiling,  and  happy. 

"Hadn't  you  boys  better  shake  hands?"  said  the  rector. 
Tom,  furious,  was  collecting  blood  from  his  nose  on  his  handker 
chief.  Neither  boy  spoke.  "  Well,  John,"  said  Eivers  waiting. 

"  I  '11  shake  hands,  sir,  when  Tom  apologizes." 

The  rector  smiled.  Apologies  were  hardly  understood  as  end 
ings  to  village  fights.  "  He  won't  do  it,"  said  John  with  a 
glance  at  the  swollen  face ;  "  another  time  I  '11  make  him." 


WESTWAYS  73 

"  Will  you ! "  exclaimed  Tom. 

The  rector  felt  that  on  the  whole  it  might  have  been  better 
had  they  fought  it  out.  Now  the  peacemaking  business  was 
clearly  not  blessed.  "  You  are  a  nice  pair  of  young  Christians," 
he  said.  "At  all  events,  you  shall  not  fight  any  more  to-day. 
Come,  John." 

The  boy  put  on  his  jacket  and  went  away  with  Eivers,  who 
asked  presently  what  was  this  about.  "  Mr.  Eivers,  soon  after 
I  came  that  fellow  was  rough  to  Leila;  I  hit  him,  and  he  beat 
me  like  —  like  a  dog." 

"  And  you  let  all  these  suns  go  down  upon  your  wrath  ?  " 

"  There  was  n't  any  wrath,  sir.  He  would  n't  apologize  to 
Leila ;  he  would  n't  do  it." 

"Oh!  indeed." 

"  Then  he  said  something  to-day  about  Uncle  Jim." 

"  Anything  else  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  made  it  pretty  clear  that  he  thought  me  a  liar." 

"Well,  but  you  knew  you  were  not." 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  he  did  n't  appear  to  know." 

"  Do  you  think  you  convinced  him  ?  " 

"No,  sir,  but  I  feel  better." 

"  Ah !  is  that  so  ?  Morally  better,  John  ?  "  and  he  laughed  as 
he  bade  him  good-bye. 

The  lad  who  left  him  was  tired,  but  entirely  satisfied  with 
John  Penhallow.  He  went  to  the  stable  and  had  a  technical 
talk  with  the  English  groom,  who  deeply  regretted  not  to  have 
seen  the  fight. 

There  being  no  riding  or  swimming  to  fill  the  time,  he  took  a 
net,  some  tackle  and  a  bucket,  and  went  down  to  the  river  and 
netted  a  "hellbender."  He  put  him  in  a  bucket  of  water  and 
carried  him  to  the  stable,  where  he  was  visited  by  Leila  and 
Eivers,  and  later  departed  this  life,  much  lamented.  In  the 
afternoon,  being  in  a  happy  mood,  John  easily  persuaded  Leila 
to  abandon  her  ride,  and  walk  with  him. 


74  WESTWAYS 

When  they  sat  down  beside  the  Indian  graves,  to  his  surprise 
she  suddenly  shifted  the  talk  and  said,  "  John,  who  would  you 
vote  for  ?  I  asked  Aunt  Ann,  and  she  said,  '  Buchanan,  of 
course ' ;  and  when  I  asked  Uncle  Jim,  he  said,  '  Fremont ' ;  but 
I  want  to  understand.  I  saw  in  the  paper  that  it  was  wicked  to 
keep  slaves,  but  my  cousins  in  Maryland  have  slaves ;  it  can't  be 
wicked." 

"  Would  you  like  to  be  bought  and  sold  ?  "  he  said. 

"  But,  I  am  not  black,  John." 

"  I  believe  old  Josiah  was  a  slave/' 

"  Every  one  knows  that.     Why  did  he  run  away,  John  ?  " 

"  Because  he  wanted  to  be  free,  I  suppose,  and  not  have  to 
work  without  pay." 

"  And  don't  they  pay  slaves  ?  "  asked  Leila. 

"  No,  they  don't."  John  felt  unable  to  make  clear  to  her 
why  the  two  people  they  respected  and  loved  never  discussed 
what  the  village  talked  about  so  freely.  These  intelligent  chil 
dren  were  in  the  toils  of  a  question  which  was  disturbing  the 
consciences  and  the  interests  of  a  continent.  The  simpler  side 
was  clear  to  both  of  them.  The  idea  of  selling  the  industrious 
old  barber  was  as  yet  enough  to  settle  their  politics. 

"  Aunt  Ann  must  have  good  reasons,"  said  John.  "  Mr.  Eivers 
says  'she  is  the  most  just  woman  he  ever  knew."  It  puzzled  him. 
"  I  suppose  we  are  too  young  to  understand." 

"  Aunt  Ann  will  never  talk  about  slaves.  I  asked  her  last 
week." 

"  But  Uncle  Jim  will  talk,  and  he  likes  to  be  asked  when  we 
are  alone.  I  don't  believe  in  slavery." 

"  It  seems  so  queer,  John,  to  own  a  man." 

John  grinned,  "  Or  a  girl,  Leila." 

"  Well,  no  one  owns  me,  I  tell  you ;  they  'd  have  a  hard  time." 

She  shook  what  Eivers  called  her  free-flowing  cascade  of  hair 
in  the  pride  of  conscious  freedom.  The  talk  ran  on.  At  last 
she  said,  "  I  '11  tell  you  a  queer  thing.  I  heard  Mr.  Eivers  say 


WESTWAYS  75 

to  uncle  —  I  heard  him  say,  we  were  all  slaves.  He  said  that  no 
one  owns  himself.  I  think  that 's  silly,"  said  the  young  philoso 
pher,  "  don't  you,  John?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  returned  John ;  "  I  think  it 's  a  big  puzzle. 
Let >s  go." 

No  word  reached  the  Squire  of  the  battle  behind  the  church 
until  four  days  later,  when  Eivers  came  in  after  dinner  and  found 
Penhallow  in  his  library  deep  in  thought. 

"  Worried,  Squire  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  affairs  are  in  a  bad  way  and  will  be  until  the  election 
is  over.  It  always  disturbs  commerce.  The  town  will  go  Demo 
cratic,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes,  as  I  told  you,  unless  you  take  a  hand  and  are  in  earnest 
and  outspoken." 

"  I  could  be,  but  it  has  not  yet  the  force  of  imperative  duty, 
and  it  would  hurt  Ann  more  than  I  feel  willing  to  do.  Talk  of 
something  else.  She  would  cease  her  mild  canvass  if  she  thought 
it  annoyed  me." 

"  I  see  —  sir.  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  John  has  had 
another  battle  with  Tom  McGregor." 

"  Indeed?  "  The  Squire  sat  up,  all  attention.  "  He  does  not 
show  any  marks  of  it." 

"  No,  but  Tom  does." 

"  Indeed !     What  happened  ?  " 

"Well,  I  believe,  Tom  thought  John  told  you  what  boys 
were  in  that  joke  on  Billy.  I  fancy  something  was  said  about 
you  —  something  personal,  which  John  resented." 

"That  is  of  no  moment.  What  else?  I  ought  to  be  clear 
about  it." 

"Well,  Squire,  Tom  was  badly  mauled  and  John  was  tired 
when  I  arrived  as  peacemaker.  I  stopped  the  battle,  but  he  was 
not  at  all  disposed  to  talk  about  it.  I  am  sure  of  one  thing  — 
he  has  had  a  grudge  against  Tom  —  since  he  was  rude  to  Leila." 

The  Squire  rose  and  walked  about  the  room.     "  H'm !  very 


76  WESTWAYS 

strange  that  —  what  a  mere  child  he  was  when  he  got  licked  — 
boys  don't  remember  injuries  that  way."  Then  seeming  to  be 
come  conscious  of  Kivers'  presence,  he  stopped  beside  him  and 
added,  "  What  with  my  education  and  Leila's,  he  has  grown 
amazingly.  He  was  as  timid  as  a  foal." 

"  He  is  not  now,  Squire,  and  John  has  been  as  useful  mentally 
to  Leila.  She  is  learning  to  think." 

"  Sorry  for  it,  Mark,  women  ought  not  to  think.  Now  if  my 
good  Ann  would  n't  think,  I  should  be  the  happier." 

"  My  dear  Squire,"  said  Kivers,  setting  an  affectionate  hand  on 
his  arm,  "  my  dear  Mrs.  Penhallow  does  n't  think,  except  about 
the  every-day  things  of  life.  Her  politics  and  religion  are  sa 
cred  beliefs  not  to  be  rudely  jostled  by  the  disturbance  of  think 
ing.  If  there  is  illness,  debt  or  trouble,  at  the  mills  or  in  West- 
ways,  she  becomes  seraphic  and  intelligent  enough." 

"Yes,  Eivers,  and  if  I  put  before  her,  as  I  sometimes  do,  a 
perplexing  business  matter,  I  am  surprised  at  her  competence. 
Of  course,  she  is  as  able  as  you  or  I  to  reason,  but  on  one  subject 
she  does  not  reason  or  believe  that  it  admits  of  discussion;  and 
by  Heaven !  my  friend,  I  am  sometimes  ashamed  to  keep  out  of 
this  business.  So  far  as  this  State  is  concerned,  it  is  hopeless. 
You  know,  dear  friend,  what  you  have  been  to  us,  and  that  to  no 
other  man  on  earth  could  I  speak  as  I  have  done  to  you;  but 
Mark,  if  things  get  worse  —  and  they  will  —  what  then  ?  John 
asked  me  what  we  should  do  if  the  Southern  States  did  really 
secede.  Things  seem  to  stick  in  his  mind  like  burrs  —  he  was 
at  it  again  next  day." 

Rivers  smiled.     "  Like  me,  I  suppose." 

"Yes,  Mark.  He  is  persistent  about  everything  —  lessons, 
sports,  oh!  everything;  an  uncomfortably  curious  lad,  too. 
These  Southern  opinions  about  reclaiming  a  man's  slaves  bother 
the  boy.  He  reads  my  papers,  and  how  can  I  stop  him  ?  I  don't 
want  to.  There!  we  are  at  it  again." 

"  Yes,  there  is  no  escape  from  these  questions." 


WESTWAYS  77 

"  And  he  has  even  got  Leila  excited  and  she  wants  to  know  — 
I  told  her  to  ask  Ann  Penhallow  —  I  have  not  heard  of  the  re 
sult.  Well,  you  are  going.  Good-night." 

The  Squire  sat  still  in  the  not  very  agreeable  company  of  his 
thoughts.  Leila  was  to  go  to  school  this  September,  Buchanan's 
election  in  November  was  sure,  and  John —  He  had  come  to 
love  the  lad,  and  perhaps  he  had  been  too  severe.  Then  he 
thought  of  the  boy's  fight  and  smiled.  The  rector  and  he  had 
disagreed.  Was  it  better  for  boys  to  abuse  one  another  or  to 
settle  things  by  a  fight?  The  rector  had  urged  that  his  argu 
ment  for  the  ordeal  of  battle  would  apply  with  equal  force  to 
the  duel  of  men.  He  had  said,  "  No,  boys  do  not  kill ;  and  after 
all  even  the  duel  has  its  values."  Then  the  rector  said  he  was 
past  praying  for  and  had  better  read  the  Decalogue. 

When  next  day  Mark  Kivers  was  being  shaved  by  the  skilled 
hand  of  Josiah,  he  heard  the  voice  of  his  friend  and  fishing- 
companion,  the  Rev.  Isaac  Grace,  "  What  about  the  trout-brook 
this  afternoon?" 

"  Of  course,"  said  Mark,  moveless  under  the  razor.  "  Call 
for  me  at  five." 

"  Seen  yesterday's  Press  ?  " 

"  No.     I  can't  talk,  Grace." 

"  This  town 's  all  for  Buchanan  and  Breckenridge.  How  will 
the  Squire  vote  ?  " 

"  Ask  him.     Take  care,  Josiah." 

"  If  the  Squire  is  n't  taking  any  active  part,  Mrs.  Penhallow 
is.  She  is  taking  a  good  deal  of  interest  in  the  roof  of  my 
chapel  and  —  and  —  other  things." 

The  rector  did  not  like  it.     "  I  can't  talk,  Grace." 

"But  I  can."— "  Well,"  thought  the  rector,  "for  an  intelli 
gent  man  you  are  slow  at  taking  hints."  The  good-natured 
rotund  preacher  went  on,  amazing  his  helpless  friend,  "  I  wonder 
if  the  Squire  would  like  her  canvassing — " 

"  Ask  him." 


78  WESTWAYS 

"  Guess  not.  She  ?s  a  good  woman,  but  not  just  after  the 
fashion  of  St.  Paul's  women." 

"  She  has  n't  done  no  talking  to  me,"  said  Josiah,  chuckling. 
"  There,  sir,  I  ?m  through." 

Then  the  released  rector  said,  "  If  you  talk  politics  again  to  me 
for  the  next  two  months,  Grace,  I  will  never  tie  for  you  another 
trout-fly.  Your  turn,"  and  he  left  the  chair  to  Grace,  who  sat 
down  saying  with  the  persistency  of  the  good-humoured  and 
tactless,  "  If  I  want  a  roof  to  my  chapel,  I  ?ve  got  to  keep  out  of 
talking  Republican  politics,  that 's  clear  — " 

"  And  several  other  things,"  returned  Mark  sharply.  . 

"Such  as,"  said  Grace,  but  the  rector  had  gone  and  Josiah 
was  lathering  the  big  red  face. 

"  Got  to  make  believe  sometimes,  sir,"  said  Josiah.  "  She  's 
an  uncommon  kind  lady,  and  the  pumpkins  she  gives  me  are 
fine.  A  fellow 's  got  time  to  think  between  this  and  November. 
Pumpkins  and  leaky  roofs  do  make  a  man  kind  of  thoughtful." 
He  grinned  approval  of  his  own  wisdom.  "  Now  don't  talk,  sir. 
Might  chance  to  cut  you." 

This  sly  unmasking  of  motives,  his  own  and  those  of  others, 
was  disagreeable  to  the  good  little  man  who  was  eager  to  get 
his  chapel  roofed  and  no  more  willing  than  Mrs.  Penhallow  to 
admit  that  how  he  would  vote  had  anything  to  do  with  the  much 
needed  repairs.  His  people  were  poor  and  the  leaks  were  be 
coming  worse  and  worse.  He  kept  his  peace,  and  the  barber 
smiling  plied  the  razor. 

Now  the  Squire  paused  at  the  open  door,  where  he  met  his 
nephew.  "  Come  to  get  those  scalp-locks  trimmed,  John  ?  They 
are  perilously  long.  If  you  were  to  get  into  a  fight  and  a  fellow 
got  hold  of  them,  you  would  have  a  bad  time."  Then  as  his 
uncle  went  away  laughing,  John  knew  that  the  Squire  must  have 
heard  of  his  battle  from  Mark  Rivers.  He  did  not  like  it.  Why 
he  did  not  know  or  ask  himself,  being  as  yet  too  immature  for 
such  self-analysis. 


WESTWAYS  79 

Mr.  Grace  got  up  clean-shaven,  adjusted  a  soiled  paper-col 
lar,  and  said,  "  Good-morning,  John.  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that 
a  Christian  lad  like  you  should  be  fighting.  I  am  sure  that 
neither  Mr.  Rivers  nor  your  aunt  would  approve  of  it.  My  son 
told  me  about  it,  and  I  think  it  my  duty  — " 

John  broke  in,  "  Then  your  son  is  a  tell-tale,  Mr.  Grace,  and 
allow  me  to  say  that  this  is  none  of  his  business.  When  I  am 
insulted,  I  resent  it."  To  be  chaffed,  by  his  own  uncle  when 
under  sentence  of  a  court-martial  had  not  been  agreeable,  but 
this  admonition  was  unendurable.  He  entered  the  shop. 

"Well,  I  never/5  exclaimed  the  preacher,  as  John  went  by 
him. 

The  barber  was  laughing.     "  Set  down,  Mr.  John." 

"  I  suppose  the  whole  of  Westways  knows  it,  Mr.  Josiah  ?  " 

"  They  do,  sir.     Wish  I  'd  seen  it." 

"  Damn ! "  exclaimed  John,  swearing  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life.  "  Cut  my  hair  short,  please,  and  don't  talk." 

"  No,  sir.     You  ain't  even  got  a  scratch." 

"  Oh,  do  shut  up,"  said  John.  There  was  a  long  silence  while 
the  curly  locks  fell. 

"  You  gave  it  to  the  Baptist  man  hot.  I  don't  like  him.  He 
calls  me  Joe.  It  is  n't  respectable.  My  name  's  Josiah." 

"  Have  n't  you  any  other  name  ?  "  said  John,  having  recovered 
his  good-humour. 

"Yes,  sir,  but  I  keeps  that  to  myself." 

"  But  why  ?  "  urged  John. 

Josiah  hesitated.  "  Well,  Mr.  John,  I  ran  away,  and  —  so  it 
was  best  to  get  a  new  name." 

"  Indeed !  Of  course,  every  one  knows  you  must  have  run 
away  —  but  no  one  cares." 

"  Might  say  I  was  run  away  with  —  can't  always  hold  a  horse," 
he  laughed  aloud  in  a  leisurely  way.  "  When  he  took  me  over 
the  State-line,  I  did  n't  go  back." 

"I  see,"  said  John  laughing,  as  he  rose  and  paid  the  bar- 


80  WESTWAYS 

her.     The  cracked  mirror  satisfied  him  that  he  was  well  shorn. 

"  You  looks  a  heap  older  now  you  're  shorn.  Makes  old  fel 
lows  look  younger  —  ever  notice  that  ?  " 

"  No." 

Then  Josiah,  of  a  sudden  wisely  cautious,  said,  "  You 
won't  tell  Mrs.  Penhallow,  nor  no  one,  about  me,  what  I 
said?" 

"  Of  course  not ;  but  why  my  aunt,  Mr.  Josiah  ?  She,  like  my 
uncle,  must  know  you  ran  away." 

When  John  first  arrived  the  black  barber's  appearance  so  im 
pressed  the  lad  that  he  spoke  to  him  as  Mr.  Josiah,  and  seeing 
later  how  much  this  pleased  him  continued  in  his  quite  courteous 
way  to  address  him  now  and  then  as  Mr.  Josiah.  The  barber 
liked  it.  He  hesitated  a  moment  before  answering. 

"  You  need  n't  talk  about  it  if  you  don't  want  to,"  said 
John. 

"  Guess  whole  truth  's  better  than  half  truth  —  nothin'  makes 
folk  curious  like  knowin'  half.  When  I  first  came  here,  I 
guessed  I  'd  best  change  my  name,  so  I  said  I  was  Josiah.  Fact 
is,  Mr.  John,  I  didn't  know  Mrs.  Penhallow  came  from  Mary 
land  till  I  had  been  here  quite  a  while  and  got  to  like  the  folks 
and  the  Captain." 

John's  experience  was  enlarging.  He  could  hardly  have  real 
ized  the  strange  comfort  the  black  felt  in  his  confession.  What 
it  all  summed  up  for  Josiah  in  the  way  of  possible  peril  of  losa 
of  liberty  John  presently  had  made  plain  to  him.  He  was  in 
creasingly  urgent  in  his  demand  for  answers  to  the  many  ques 
tions  life  was  bringing.  The  papers  he  read  had  been  sharp 
schoolmasters,  and  of  slave  life  he  knew  nothing  except  from  his 
aunt's  pleasant  memories  of  plantation  life  when  a  girl  on  a 
great  Maryland  manor.  That  she  could  betray  to  servitude  the 
years  of  grey-haired  freedom  seemed  to  John  incredible  of  the 
angel  of  kindly  helpfulness.  He  stood  still  in  thought,  troubled 
by  his  boy-share  of  puzzle  over  a  too  mighty  problem. 


WESTWAYS  81 

Josiah,  a  little  uneasy,  said,  "What  was  you  thinkin',  Mr. 
John?" 

The  young  fellow  replied  smiling,  "  Do  you  think  Aunt  Ann 
would  hurt  anybody?  Do  you  think  she  would  send  word  to 
some  one  —  to  take  you  back  ?  Anyhow  she  can't  know  who  was 
your  master." 

The  old  black  nodded  slowly,  "  Mr.  John,  she  born  mistress 
and  I  born  slave;  she  can't  help  it  —  and  they  was  good  people 
too  —  all  the  people  that  owned  me.  They  liked  me  too.  I 
did  n't  have  to  work  except  holdin'  horses  and  trainin'  colts  — 
and  housework.  They  was  always  kind  to  me." 

"  But  why  did  you  run  away  ?  " 

"  Well,  Mr.  John,  it  was  sort  of  sudden.  You  see  ever  since 
I  could  remember  there  was  some  one  to  say,  Caesar  you  do  this, 
or  you  go  there.  One  day  when  I  was  breakin'  a  colt,  Mr.  Wood- 
burn  says  to  me  —  I  was  leanin'  against  a  stump  —  how  will 
that  colt  turn  out  ?  I  said,  I  don't  know,  but  I  did.  It  was  n't 
any  good.  My  mind  was  took  up  watchin'  a  hawk  goin'  here 
and  there  over  head  like  he  was  enjoyin'  hisself.  Then  —  then 
it  come  over  me  —  that  he  'd  got  no  boss  but  God.  It  got  a  grip 
on  me  like  — "  The  lad  listened  intently. 

"  You  wanted  to  be  free  like  the  hawk." 

"  I  don't  quite  know  —  never  thought  of  it  before  —  might 
have  seen  lots  of  hawks.  I  ain't  never  told  any  one." 

"  Are  you  glad  to  be  free  ?  " 

"  Ah,  kind  of  half  glad,  sir.  I  ain't  altogether  broke  in  to  it. 
You  see  I  'm  old  for  change." 

As  he  ended,  James  Penhallow  reappeared.  "  Got  through, 
John  ?  You  look  years  older.  Your  aunt  will  miss  those  curly 
locks."  He  went  into  the  shop  as  John  walked  away,  leaving 
Josiah  who  would  have  liked  to  add  a  word  more  of  caution  and 
who  nevertheless  felt  somehow  a  sense  of  relief  in  having  made 
a  confession  the  motive  force  of  which  he  would  have  found  it 
impossible  to  explain. 


82  WESTWAYS 

John  asked  himself  no  such  question  as  he  wandered  deep  in 
boy-thought  along  the  broken  line  of  the  village  houses.  Josiah/s 
confidence  troubled  and  yet  nattered  him.  His  imagination  was 
captured  by  the  suggested  idea  of  the  wild  freedom  of  the  hawk. 
He  resolved  to  be  careful,  and  felt  more  and  more  that  he  had 
been  trusted  with  a  secret  involving  danger. 

While  John  wandered  away,  the  barber  cut  the  Squire's  hair, 
and  to  his  surprise  Josiah  did  not  as  usual  pour  out  his  supply 
of  village  gossip. 


CHAPTER  VI 

IT  was  now  four  days  since  John's  sentence  had  been  pro 
nounced,  and  not  to  be  allowed  to  swim  in  the  heat  of  a  hot 
September  added  to  the  severity  of  the  penalty.  The  heat  as 
usual  made  tempers  hot  and  circumstances  variously  disturbed 
the  household  of  Grey  Pine.  Politics  vexed  and  business 
troubled  the  master.  Of  the  one  he  could  not  talk  to  his  wife  — 
of  the  other  he  would  not  at  present,  hoping  for  better  business 
conditions,  and  feeling  that  politics  and  business  were  now  too 
nearly  related  to  keep  them  apart.  Ann,  his  wife,  thought  him 
depressed  —  a  rare  mood  for  him.  Perhaps  it  was  the  unusual 
moist  heat.  He  said,  "Yes,  yes,  dear,  one  does  feel  it."  She 
did  not  guess  that  the  obvious  unhappiness  of  the  lad  who  had 
won  the  soldier's  heart  was  being  felt  by  Penhallow  without  his 
seeing  how  he  could  end  it  and  yet  not  lessen  the  value  of  a  just 
verdict. 

Of  all  those  concerned  Leila  was  the  one  most  troubled.  On 
this  hot  afternoon  she  saw  John  disappear  into  the  forest. 
When  Mrs.  Ann  came  out  on  the  porch  where  she  had  for  a  min 
ute  left  the  girl,  she  saw  her  sewing-bag  on  a  chair  and  caught 
sight  of  the  flowing  hair  and  agile  young  figure  as  she  set  a  hand 
on  the  low  stone  wall  of  the  garden  and  was  over  and  lost  among 
the  trees.  "  Leila,  Leila,"  cried  Mrs.  Ann,  "  I  told  you  to 
finish  — "  It  was  useless.  "  Everything  goes  wrong  to-day," 
she  murmured.  "Well,  school  will  civilize  that  young  barba 
rian,  and  she  must  have  longer  skirts."  This  was  a  sore  sub 
ject  and  Leila  had  been  vainly  rebellious. 

Meanwhile  the  flying  girl  overtook  John,  who  had  things  to 
think  about  and  wished  to  be  alone.  "  Well,"  he  said,  with  some 
impatience,  "  what  is  it  ?  " 

83 


84  WESTWAYS 

"  Oh,  I  just  wanted  a  walk,  and  don't  be  cross,  John." 

He  looked  at  her,  and  perhaps  for  the  first  time  had  the  male 
perception  of  the  beauty  of  the  disordered  hair,  the  pleading  look 
of  the  blue  eyes,  and  the  brilliant  colour  of  the  eager  flushed  face. 
It  was  the  hair  —  the  wonderful  hair.  She  threw  it  back  as  she 
stood.  No  one  could  long  be  cross  to  Leila.  Even  her  resolute 
aunt  was  sometimes  defeated  by  her  unconquerable  sweetness. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  for  you,  John,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  I  am  not,  Leila,  if  you  mean  that  Uncle  Jim  was  hard 
on  me." 

"  Yes,  he  was,  and  I  mean  to  tell  him  —  I  do." 

"  Please  not."  She  said  nothing  in  the  way  of  reply,  but  only, 
"  Let  us  go  and  see  the  spring." 

"Well,  come  along." 

They  wandered  far  into  the  untouched  forest.  "  Ah !  here  it 
is,"  she  cried.  A  spring  of  water  ran  out  from  among  the 
anchoring  roots  of  a  huge  black  spruce.  He  stood  gazing  down 
at  it. 

"  Oh,  Leila,  is  n't  it  wonderful  ?  " 

"  Were  you  never  here  before,  John  ?  " 

"  No,  never.  It  seems  as  if  it  was  born  out  of  the  tree.  No 
wonder  this  spruce  grew  so  tall  and  strong.  How  cold  it  must 
keep  the  old  fellow's  toes." 

"  What  queer  ideas  you  have,  John."  She  had  not  yet  the  gift 
of  fancy,  long  denied  to  some  in  the  emergent  years  of  approach 
ing  womanhood.  "  I  am  tired,  John,"  she  said,  as  she  dropped 
with  hands  clasped  behind  her  head  and  hidden  in  the  glorious 
abundance  of  darkening  red  hair,  which  lay  around  her  on  the 
brown  pine-needles  like  the  disordered  aureole  of  some  careless- 
minded  saint. 

John  said,  "  It  is  this  terrible  heat.  I  never  before  heard  you 
complain  of  being  tired." 

"Oh,  it's  just  nice  tired."     She  lay  still,  comfortable,  with 


WESTWAYS  85 

open  eyes  staring  up  at  the  intense  blue  of  the  September 
sky  seen  through  the  wide-cast  limbs  of  pine  and  spruce.  The 
little  rill,  scarce  a  finger  thickness  of  water,  crawled  out  lazily 
between  the  roots  and  trickled  away.  The  girl  was  in  empty- 
minded  enjoyment  of  the  luxury  of  complete  relaxation  of  every 
muscle  of  her  strong  young  body.  The  spring  was  noiseless,  no 
leaf  was  astir  in  all  the  forest  around  them.  The  girl  lay  still, 
a  part  of  the  vast  quietness. 

John  Penhallow  stood  a  moment,  and  then  said,  "  Good  gra 
cious  !  Leila,  your  eyes  are  blue."  It  was  true.  When  big  eyes 
are  wide  open  staring  up  at  the  comrade  blue  of  the  deep  blue 
sky,  they  win  a  certain  beauty  of  added  colour  like  little  quiet 
lakelets  under  the  azure  sky  when  no  wind  disturbs  their  power 
of  reflecting  capture. 

"  Oh,  John,  and  did  n't  you  know  my  eyes  were  blue  ?  "  She 
spoke  with  languid  interest  in  the  fact  he  announced. 

"  But,"  he  said,  looking  down  at  her  as  he  stood,  "  they  're  so 
—  so  very  blue." 

"  Oh,  all  the  Greys  have  blue  eyes." 

He  laughed  gentle  laughter  and  dropped  on  the  pine-needles 
of  the  forest  floor.  The  spring  lay  between  them.  He  felt,  as 
she  did  not,  the  charm  of  the  stillness.  He  wanted  to  find  words 
in  which  to  put  his  desire  for  expression.  She  broke  into  his 
mood  of  imaginative  seekings. 

"  How  cold  it  is,"  she  said,  gathering  the  water  in  the  cup  of 
her  hand,  and  then  with  both  hands  did  better  and  got  a  refresh 
ing  drink. 

"  That  makes  a  better  cup,"  he  said.  "  Let  us  follow  the 
water  to  the  river." 

"  It  never  gets  there.  It  runs  into  Lonesome  Man's  swamp, 
and  that 's  the  end  of  him." 

"Who,  Lonesome  Man  or  the  spring?  And  who  was  Lone 
some  Man?" 


86  WESTWAYS 

"  Nobody  knows.     What  does  it  matter  ?  " 

He  watched  her  toy  with  the  new-born  rill,  a  mere  thread  of 
water,  build  a  Lilliputian  dam,  and  muddle  the  clear  outflow 
as  it  broke,  and  then  build  again.  He  had  the  thought  that  she 
had  suddenly  become  younger,  more  like  a  child,  and  he  himself 
older. 

"  Why  don't  you  talk,  John?  »  she  said. 

"I  can't.  I  am  wondering  about  that  Lonesome  Man  and 
what  the  trees  are  thinking.  Don't  you  feel  how  still  it  is  ?  It 's 
disrespectful  to  gabble  before  your  betters."  He  felt  it  and  said 
it  without  affectation,  but  as  usual  his  mood  of  wandering 
thought  failed  to  interest  Leila. 

"  I  hate  it  when  it 's  quiet !  I  like  to  hear  the  wind  howl  in 
the  pines  — " 

He  expressed  his  annoyance.  "You  never  want  to  talk  any 
thing  but  horses  and  swimming.  Wait  till  you  come  back  next 
spring  with  long  skirts  —  such  a  nice  well-behaved  Miss  Grey." 
He  was,  in  familiar  phrase,  out  of  sorts,  with  a  bit  of  will  to 
annoy  a  disappointing  companion.  His  mild  effort  had  no  suc 
cess. 

"  Oh,  John,  it 's  awful !  You  ought  to  be  sorry  for  me.  The 
more  you  grow  up  the  more  your  skirts  grow  down.  Bother 
their  manners!  Who  cares!  Let's  go  home.  It  feels  just  as 
if  it  was  Sunday." 

"  It  is,  in  the  woods.  Well,  come  along."  He  walked  on  in 
the  silence,  she  thinking  of  that  alarming  prospect  of  school, 
and  he  of  the  escaped  slave's  secret  and,  what  struck  the  boy 
most  —  the  hawk.  Never  before  had  he  been  told  anything 
which  was  to  be  sacredly  guarded  from  others.  It  gave  him  now 
a  pleasant  feeling  of  having  been  trusted.  Suppose  Leila  had 
been  told  such  a  thing,  how  would  she  feel,  and  Aunt  Ann  ?  He 
was  like  a  man  who  has  too  large  a  deposit  in  a  doubtful  bank. 
He  was  vaguely  uneasy  lest  he  might  tell  or  in  some  way  betray 
his  sense  of  possessing  a  person's  confidence. 


WESTWAYS  87 

-. 

As  they  came  near  the  house,  Leila  said,  "  Catch  me,  I  '11  run 
you  home." 

"  Tag,"  he  cried. 

As  they  came  to  the  side  porch,  Ann  Penhallow  said,  "  Finish 
that  handkerchief  —  now,  at  once.  It  is  time  you  were  taught 
other  than  torn-boy  ways." 

John  went  by  into  the  house.  After  dinner  the  Squire  had 
his  usual  game  of  whist,  always  to  the  dissatisfaction  of  Leila, 
whose  thoughts  wandered  like  birds  on  the  wing,  from  twig  to 
twig.  John  usually  played  far  better,  but  just'  now  worse  than 
his  cousin,  and  forgot  or  revoked,  to  his  uncle's  disgust.  A  man 
of  rather  settled  habits,  now  as  usual  Penhallow  went  to  his  li 
brary  for  the  company  of  the  pipe,  which  Ann  disliked,  and  the 
Tribune,  which  she  regarded  as  the  organ  of  Satanic  politics. 
Seeing  both  John  and  her  aunt  absorbed  in  their  books,  Leila 
passed  quickly  back  of  them,  opened  the  library  door,  and  said 
softly,  "  May  I  come  in,  Uncle  Jim  ?  " 

During  the  last  few  days  he  had  missed,  and  he  well  knew  why, 
John's  visits  and  intelligent  questions.  Leila  was  welcome. 
"  Why,  of  course,  pussy  cat.  Come  in.  Shut  the  door ;  your 
aunt  dislikes  the  pipe  smoke.  Sit  down."  For  some  reason  she 
desired  to  stand.  "Don't  stand,"  he  said,  "sit  down  on  my 
knee."  She  obeyed.  "There,"  he  said,  "that's  comfy.  How 
heavy  you  are.  Good  gracious,  child !  what  am  I  to  do  without 
you?" 

"  Is  n't  it  awful,  Uncle  Jim." 

"It  is  —  it  is.  What  do  you  want,  my  dear?  Anything 
wrong  with  the  horses  ?  " 

"No,  sir.     It's  —  John— " 

"  Oh !  it 's  John.     Well,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  n't  John  —  it 's  John  and  the  horses  —  I  mean  John 
and  Dixy.  Patrick  rides  Dixy  for  exercise  every  day." 

"  Well,  what 's  the  matter  ?  First  it 's  John,  then  Dixy,  then 
John  and  Dixy,  and  then  John  and  Dixy  and  Pat." 


88  WESTWAYS 

The  girl  saw  through  the  amusement  he  had  in  teasing  her 
and  said  with  gravity,  "  I  wish  you  would  be  serious,  Uncle 
Jim.  I  want  five  minutes  of  uninterrupted  attention." 

The  Squire  exploded,  "  Good  gracious !  that  is  Ann  Grey  all 
over.  You  must  have  heard  her  say  it." 

"  I  did,  and  you  listen,  too.  Sometimes  you  don't,  Uncle 
Jim.  I  guess  you  were  n't  well  broke  when  you  were  young." 

"  Great  Scott !  you  minx !  Some  day  a  girl  I  know  will  have 
to  stand  at  attention.  Go  ahead." 

"  Pat 's  ruining  Dixy's  mouth.  You  ought  to  see  him  saw 
ing  at  the  curb.  You  always  rode  him  on  the  snaffle." 

"  That  boy  Pat  needs  a  good  licking,  Leila." 

"  But  Dixy  don't.  The  fact  is,  Uncle  Jim,  you  're  neglecting 
the  stables  for  politics." 

"  Is  that  your  own  wisdom,  Miss  Grey  ?  What  with  the 
weight  of  wisdom  and  years,  you  ?re  getting  heavy.  Try  a  chair." 

"  No,  I  ?m  quite  comfy.  It  was  Josiah  who  told  me.  He 
often  comes  up  to  look  over  the  colts,  of  a  Sunday — " 

"  Nice  work  for  Sunday,  Miss  Grey." 

She  made  no  direct  reply.  "He  told  me  that  horse  ought 
to  be  ridden  by  —  by  John  or  you,  and  no  one  else.  He  says 
the  way  to  ruin  a  horse  is  to  have  a  lot  of  people  ride  him  like 
Pat  —  they  're  just  spoiling  Dixy  — " 

"  What !  in  four  days  ?     Nonsense." 

"  But,"  said  the  counsel  in  the  case,  "  it 's  to  be  ten.  It  is  n't 
about  John,  it 's  Dixy's  mouth,  uncle." 

"  Oh,  you  darling  little  liar !  "  Here  she  kissed  him  and  was 
silent.  "  It  won't  do,"  he  said.  "  There  's  no  logic  in  a  kiss. 
Miss  Grey.  First  comes  Ann  Grey  and  says,  too  much  army 
discipline ;  and  then  you  tell  me  what  that  gossiping  old  darkey 
says,  and  then  you  try  the  final  argument  —  a  kiss.  Can't  do  it. 
There  will  be  an  end  of  all  discipline.  I  hate  practical  jokes. 
There !  " 

If  he  thought  to  finish  the  matter  thus,  he  much  undervalued 


WESTWAYS  89 

the  ingenuity  and  persistency  of  the  young  Portia  who  was 
now  conducting  the  case. 

"  Suppose  you  take  a  chair,  Miss  Grey.  It  is  rather  warm 
to  provide  permanent  human  seats  for  stout  young  women — " 

"  I  'm  not  stout,"  said  Leila  with  emphasis,  accepting  the  hint 
by  dropping  with  coiled  legs  upon  a  cushion  at  his  feet.  "  I  'm 
not  stout.  I  weigh  one  hundred  and  thirty  and  a  half  pounds. 
And  oh !  is  n't  it  hot.  I  have  n't  had  a  swim  for  —  oh,  at  least 
five  days  counting  Sunday."  The  pool  was  kept  free  until  noon 
for  Leila  and  her  aunt. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  swim  ?  "  he  asked  lightly,  being  too  intellec 
tually  busy  clearing  his  pipe  to  see  where  the  leading  counsel 
was  conducting  him. 

"  Why,  Uncle  Jim,  I  would  n't  swim  if  John  was  n't  allowed 
too ;  I  just  could  n't.  I  'm  going  to  bed  —  but,  please,  don't  let 
Pat  ride  Dixy." 

"  I  can  attend  to  my  stables,  Miss  Grey.  John  won't  die  of 
heat  for  want  of  a  swim.  You  don't  seem  to  concern  yourself 
with  those  equally  overbaked  young  scamps  in  Westways." 

"  Uncle  Jim,  you  're  just  real  mean  to-night.  Josiah  told  me 
yesterday  that  my  cousin  beat  Tom  McGregor  because  he  said 
it  wa&  mean  of  you  to  stop  the  swimming.  John  said  it  was 
just,  and  Tom  said  he  was  a  liar,  and  —  oh,  my !  John  licked  him 
—  wish  I  'd  seen  it." 

This  was  news  quite  to  his  liking.  He  made  no  reply,  lost  in 
wonder  over  the  ways  of  the  mind  male  and  female. 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed,  you  a  girl,  to  want  to  see  a  fight. 
It's  time  you  went  to  school.  Isn't  the  rector  on  the  porch? 
I  thought  I  heard  him." 

Now,  of  late  Leila  had  got  to  that  stage  of  the  game  of 
thought-interchange  when  the  young  proudly  use  newly  ac 
quired  word-counters.  "  I  think,  Uncle  Jim,  you  're  —  you  're 
irreverent." 

The  Squire  shut  the  door  on  all  outward  show  of  mirth,  and 


90  WESTWAYS 

said  gravely,  "  Is  n't  it  pronounced  irrelevant,  my  dear  Miss 
Malaprop  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  yes,"  said  Leila.  "  That 's  a  word  John  uses.  It 's 
just  short  for  '  flying  the  track ' !  " 

"  Any  other  stable  slang,  Leila  ?  " 

He  was  by  habit  averse  to  changing  his  decisions,  and  outside 
of  Ann  Penhallow's  range  of  authority  the  Squire's  discipline 
was  undisputed  and  his  decrees  obeyed.  He  had  been  pleased 
and  gaily  amused  for  this  half  hour,  but  was  of  a  mind  to  leave 
unchanged  the  penalties  he  had  inflicted. 

"  Are  you  through  with  this  nonsense,  Leila  ?  "  he  said  as  he 
rose.  "  Is  this  an  ingenious  little  game  set  up  between  you 
and  John  ?  "  To  his  utter  amazement  she  began  to  cry. 

"  By  George !  "  he  said,  "  don't  cry,"  which  is  what  a  kind 
man  always  gays  when  presented  with  the  riddle  of  tears. 

She  drew  a  brown  fist  across  her  wet  cheeks  and  said  in 
dignantly,  "  My  cousin  is  a  gentleman." 

She  turned  to  go  by  him.  "  No,  dear,  wait  a  moment."  He 
held  her  arm. 

"  Please,  let  me  go.  When  John  first  came,  you  said  he  was 
a  prig  —  and  if  he  would  just  do  some  boy-mischief  and  kick  up 
his  heels  like  a  two-year-old  with  some  fun  in  him  —  you  said 
he  was  a  sort  of  girl-boy — "  There  were  for  punctuation  sobs 
and  silences. 

"  And  where  did  you  get  all  this  about  a  prig  ?  "  he  broke 
in,  amazed. 

"  Oh,  I  heard  you  tell  Aunt  Ann.  And  now,"  said  Portia, 
"  the  first  time  he  does  a  real  nice  jolly  piece  of  mischief  you 
come  down  on  him  like  —  like  a  thousand  of  bricks."  Her 
slang  was  reserved  for  the  Squire,  as  he  well  knew. 

The  blue  eyes  shining  with  tears  looked  up  from  under  the 
glorious  disorder  of  the  mass  of  hair.  It  was  too  much  for  the 
man. 

"  How  darned  logical  you  are !  "    He  acknowledged  some  con- 


WESTWAYS  91 

sciousness  of  having  been  inconsistent.  He  had  said  one  thing 
and  done  another.  "  You  are  worse  than  your  aunt."  Then 
Leila  knew  that  Ann  Penhallow  had  talked  to  the  Squire. 
"  Well/'  he  said,  "  what 's  your  opinion,  Miss  Grey  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  're  distanced." 

"What  —  what!  Wait  a  little.  You  may  tell  that  young 
man  to  ride  when  he  pleases  and  to  swim,  and  to  tell  those 
scamps  it 's  too  hot  to  deprive  them  of  the  use  of  the  pool. 
There,  now  get  out !  " 

"But  — Uncle  Jim  — I  — can't.  Oh,  I  really  can't. 
You  've  got  to  do  it  yourself."  This  he  much  disliked  to  do. 

"  I  hear  your  aunt  calling.     Mr.  Eivers  is  going." 

She  kissed  him.  "  Now,  don't  wait,  Uncle  Jim,  and  don't 
scold  John.  He 's  been  no  use  for  these  four  days.  Good 
night,"  and  she  left  him. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose  I  've  got  to  do  it." 

He  found  Ann  alone. 

"  About  John !  I  can't  stand  up  against  you  two.  He  is  to 
be  let  off  about  the  riding  and  swimming.  I  think  you  may 
find  it  pleasant  to  tell  him,  my  dear." 

She  said  gravely,  "  It  will  come  with  more  propriety  from 
you;  but  I  do  think  you  are  right."  Then  he  knew  that  he  had 
to  do  it  himself. 

"  Very  well,  dear,"  he  said.  "  How  that  girl  is  developing. 
It  is  time  she  had  other  company  than  John,  but  Lord !  how  I 
shall  miss  her  — " 

"  And  I,  James." 

He  went  out  for  the  walk  he  generally  took  before  bed-time. 
She  lingered,  putting  things  in  order  on  her  work-table,  won 
dering  what  Leila  could  have  said  to  thus  influence  a  man  the 
village  described  as  "  set  in  his  ways."  She  was  curious  to  know, 
but  not  of  a  mind  to  question  Leila.  Before  going  to  bed,  she 
went  to  her  own  sitting-room  on  the  left  of  the  hall.  It  was 
sacred  to  domestic  and  church  business.  It  held  a  few  books 


92  WESTWAYS 

and  was  secured  by  long  custom  from  men's  tobacco  smoke.     She 
sat  down  and  wrote  to  her  cousin,  George  Grey. 

"  DEAR  GEORGE  :  If  politics  do  not  keep  you,  we  shall  look 
for  you  this  month.  There  are  colts  to  criticize  and  talk  over, 
Leila  is  eager  to  see  her  unknown  cousin  before  she  goes  to 
school  near  Baltimore  this  September. 

"  I  believe  this  town  will  go  for  Buchanan,  but  I  am  not  sure. 
James  and  I,  as  you  know,  never  talk  politics.  I  am  distressed 
to  believe  as  I  do  that  he  will  vote  for  Fremont  ;  that  '  the  great, 
the  appalling  issue/  as  Mr.  Buchanan  says,  '  is  union  or  dis 
union'  does  not  seem  to  affect  him.  I  read  Forney's  paper, 
and  James  reads  that  wild  abolition  Tribune.  It  is  very  dread 
ful,  and  I  am  without  any  one  I  can  talk  to.  My  much  loved 
rector  is  an  extreme  antislavery  man. 

"  Yours  always, 

"  ANN"  PENHALLOW. 

"  I  am  not  at  all  sure  of  you.  Be  certain  to  let  us  know  when 
to  expect  you.  You  know  you  are  —  well,  I  leave  your  social 
conscience  to  say  what. 

"  Yours  sincerely, 

PENHALLOW." 


At  breakfast  Ann  Penhallow  sat  down  to  the  coffee-urn  dis 
tributing  cheerful  good-mornings.  The  Squire  murmured  ab 
sently  over  his  napkin,  "  May  the  Lord  make  us  thankful  for 
this  and  all  the  blessings  of  life."  He  occasionally  varied  his 
grace,  and  sometimes  to  Ann's  amazement.  Why  should  he  ask 
to  be  made  thankful,  she  reflected.  These  occasional  slips  and 
variations  on  the  simple  phrase  of  gratitude  she  had  come  to 
recognize  as  signs  of  preoccupation,  and  now  glanced  at  her 
husband,  anxious  always  when  he  was  concerned.  Then,  as  he 
turned  to  John,  she  understood  that  between  his  trained  belief 
in  the  usefulness  of  inexorable  discipline  and  an  almost  womanly 


WESTWAYS  93 

tenderness  of  affection  the  heart  had  somehow  won.  She  knew 
him  well  and  at  times  read  with  ease  the  signs  of  distress  and 
annoyance  or  resolute  decision.  Usually  he  was  gay  and  merry 
at  breakfast,  chaffing  the  children  and  eating  with  the  appetite 
of  a  man  who  was  using  and  renewing  his  tissues  in  a  whole 
some  way.  Now  he  was  silent,  absent,  and  ate  little.  He  was 
the  victim  of  a  combination  of  annoyances.  Had  he  been  wise 
to  commit  himself  to  a  reversal  of  his  sentence?  Other  and 
more  important  matters  troubled  him,  but  as  usual  where  bothers 
come  in  battalions  it  is  the  lesser  skirmishers  who  are  felt  for 
the  moment. 

"  I  see  in  the  hall,  Ann/'  he  said,  "  a  letter  for  George  Grey 
—  I  will  mail  it.  When  does  he  come  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know/' 

"John,"  he  said,  "you  will  oblige  me  by  riding  to  the  mill 
and  asking  Dr.  McGregor  to  come  to  Westways  and  see  old 
Josiah.  Of  course,  he  will  charge  it  to  me."  The  Squire  was 
a  little  ashamed  of  this  indirect  confession  of  retreat. 

John  looked  up,  hesitated  a  moment,  and  said,  "  What  horse, 
sir?" 

"  Dixy,  of  course." 

"  Another  cup,  James,"  said  Mrs.  Ann  tranquilly  amused. 

John  rose,  went  around  the  table  to  his  uncle,  and  said  in 
his  finest  manner,  "  I  am  greatly  obliged,  sir." 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !     He  's  rather  fresh,  take  care." 

Then  Leila  said,  "  It 's  very  hot,  Uncle  Jim." 

"  You  small  fiend,"  said  Penhallow.  "  Hot !  On  your  way. 
John,  tell  those  rascals  at  Westways  they  may  use  the  pond." 
The  faint  smile  on  Ann  Penhallow's  face  somehow  set  the  whole 
business  in  an  agreeably  humorous  light.  The  Squire  broke 
into  the  relief  of  laughter  and  rose  saying,  "  Get  out  of  this, 
all  of  you,  if  you  want  to  keep  your  scalps." 

John  went  to  the  stable  not  quite  pleased.  He  had  felt  that 
his  punishment  for  a  boy-frolic  and  the  unexpected  results  of 


94  WESTWAYS 

Billy's  alarm  had  been  pretty  large.  His  aunt  had  not  said  so  to 
him,  but  had  made  it  clear  to  her  husband  that  the  penalty  was 
quite  disproportioned  to  the  size  of  the  offence;  a  remark  which 
had  made  him  the  more  resolute  not  to  disturb  the  course  of  jus 
tice;  and  now  this  chit  of  a  girl  had  made  him  seem  like  an  ir 
resolute  fool,  and  he  would  have  to  explain  to  Kivers,  who  would 
laugh.  As  he  went  out  of  the  hall-door,  he  felt  a  pretty  rough 
little  paw  in  his  hand  and  heard  a  whisper.  "  You  're  just  the 
dearest  thing  ever  was." 

Concerning  John  Penhallow,  it  is  to  be  said  that  he  did  not 
understand  why  he  was  let  off  so  easily.  He  had  a  suspicion 
that  Leila  was  somehow  concerned,  and  also  the  feeling  that  he 
would  rather  have  suffered  to  the  end.  However,  it  would  be 
rather  good  fun  to  announce  this  swimming-permit  to  the  boys. 

Seeing  from  his  shop  door  John  riding  down  the  avenue, 
Josiah  came  limping  across  the  road.  He  leaned  on  the  gate 
facing  the  boy  and  looking  over  the  horse  and  rider  with  the 
pleasure  of  one  who,  as  the  Squire  liked  to  say,  knew  when 
horse-flesh  and  man-flesh  were  suitably  matched.. 

"  Girth 's  a  bit  slack,  Master  John.  Always  look  it  over,  sir, 
before  you  mount." 

"Thanks,  Josiah.  Open  the  gate,  please.  How  lame  you 
are.  I  am  to  send  the  doctor  to  look  after  you  and  Peter  Lamb." 

The  big  black  man  opened  the  gate  and  adjusted  the  girth. 
"  That  ?s  right  now.  I  've  got  the  worst  rheumatics  I  ever  did 
have.  Peter  Lamb 's  sick  too.  That 's  apple-whisky.  The 
Squire  ?s  mighty  patient  with  that  man,  because  his  mother 
nursed  the  Squire  when  he  was  a  baby.  They  're  near  of  an 
age,  but  you  would  n't  think  it  to  look  at  Peter  and  the  Captain ; 
whisky  does  hurry  up  Old  Time  a  lot."  And  so  John  got  the 
town  gossip.  "  I  ain't  no  faith  in  doctor  in'  rheumatics ; 
would  n't  have  him  now  if  I  had  n't  lost  my  old  buck-eye.  My 
rabbit- foot 's  turned  grey  this  week.  That 's  a  sign  of  trouble." 

John  laughed  and  rode  from  the  gate  on  which  Leila  had  in- 


WESTWAYS  95 

vited  him  to  indulge  in  the  luxury  of  swinging.  It  seemed  years 
ago  since  she  had  sung  to  his  astonishment  the  lyric  of  the  gate. 
She  appeared  to  him  now  not  much  older.  And  how  completely 
he  felt  at  home.  He  rode  along  the  old  pike  through  West- 
ways,  nodding  to  Mrs.  Lamb,  the  mother  of  the  scamp  whom 
the  Squire  was  every  now  and  then  saving  from  the  consequences 
of  the  combination  of  a  revengeful  nature  and  bad  whisky. 
Then  Billy  hailed  John  with  malicious  simplicity. 

"Halloa!  —  John  —  can't  swim  —  can't  swim  —  ho,  ho!" 
The  butcher's  small  boy  was  loading  meat  on  a  cart.  John 
stayed  to  say  a  word  to  him,  pleased  to  have  the  chance,  as 
the  boy  grinned  at  Billy's  mocking  malice.  "Halloa!  Pole," 
he  called.  "  My  uncle  says  we  fellows  may  swim.  Tell  the 
other  fellows." 

"  Gosh !  but  that 's  good  —  John.  I  '11  tell  'em." 
John  rode  on  and  fell  to  thinking  of  Leila,  with  some  humil 
iating  suspicion  in  regard  to  her  share  in  the  Squire's  change 
of  mind ;  or  was  it  Aunt  Ann's  influence  ?  And  why  did  he  him 
self  not  altogether  like  it?  Why  should  his  aunt  and  Leila 
interfere?  He  wished  they  had  let  the  matter  alone.  What 
had  a  girl  to  do  with  it?  He  was  again  conscious  that  he  felt 
of  a  sudden  older  than  Leila,  and  did  not  fully  realize  that  in 
the  race  of  life  he  had  gone  swiftly  past  her  during  these  few 
months,  and  that  in  the  next  year  she  in  turn  would  sweep  past 
him  in  the  developmental  changes  of  life.  Now  she  seemed  to 
him  more  timid,  more  childlike  than  usual;  but  long  thinkings 
are  not  of  the  psychic  habits  of  normal  youth,  and  Dixy  re 
covered  his  attention. 

He  satisfied  the  well-bred  horse,  who  of  late  had  been  losing 
his  temper  in  the  society  of  a  rough  groom,  ignorant  of  the 
necessity  for  good  manners  with  horses.  Neither  strange 
noises  nor  machines  disturbed  Dixy  as  John  rode  through  the 
busy  iron-mills  to  the  door  of  a  small  brick  house,  so  well 
known  that  no  sign  announced  it  as  the  home  of  the  only  med- 


96  WESTWAYS 

ical  man  available  at  the  mills  or  in  Westways.  John  tied  Dixy 
to  the  hitching-post,  gnawed  by  the  doctor's  horse  during  long 
hours  of  waiting  on  an  unpunctual  man. 

The  doors  were  open,  and  as  John  entered  he  was  aware  of 
an  odour  of  drugs  and  saw  Dr.  McGregor  sound  asleep  in  an 
armchair,  a  red  silk  handkerchief  over  his  bald  head,  and  a 
swarm  of  disappointed  flies  hovering  above  him.  In  the  back 
room  the  clink  and  rattle  of  a  pestle  and  mortar  ceased  as 
Tom  appeared. 

John,  in  high  good-humour,  said,  "  Good  afternoon,  Tom. 
My  uncle  has  let  up  on  the  swimming.  He  asked  me  to  let  you 
fellows  know." 

"  It 's  about  time/'  said  Tom  crossly.  "  After  all  it  was  your 
fault  and  we  had  to  pay  for  it." 

"Now,  Tom,  you  made  me  pretty  angry  when  you  talked  to 
me  the  other  day,  and  if  you  want  to  get  me  into  another  row, 
I  won't  object;  but  I  was  not  asked  for  any  names,  and  I  did 
not  put  the  blame  on  any  one.  Can't  you  believe  a  fellow?" 

"  No,  I  can't.  If  that  parson  had  n't  come,  I  'd  have  licked 
you." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  John. 

"  Is  n't  any  perhaps  about  it.     You  look  out,  that 's  all." 

John  laughed.  He  was  just  now  what  the  Squire  described 
as  horse-happy  and  indisposed  to  quarrel.  "  Suppose  you  wake 
up  the  old  gentleman.  He  can  snore." 

Tom  shook  the  doctor's  shoulder,  "  Wake  up,  Dad.  Here  's 
John  Penhallow." 

The  Doctor  sat  up  and  pulled  off  his  handkerchief.  The  flies 
fell  upon  his  bald  pate.  "  Darn  the  flies,"  he  said.  "  What  is 
it,  John?" 

"  My  uncle  wants  you  to  come  to  Westways  to-morrow  and 
doctor  old  Josiah's  rheumatism." 

"  I  '11  come." 


WESTWAYS  97 

"  He  wants  you  to  look  after  Peter  Lamb.  He  's  been  drink 
ing  again." 

"What!  that  whisky-rotted  scamp.  It's  pure  waste  of  time. 
How  the  same  milk  came  to  feed  the  Squire  and  that  beast  the 
Lord  knows.  He  has  no  more  morals  than  a  tom-cat.  I  '11  come, 
but  it's  waste  of  good  doctoring."  Here  he  turned  his  rising 
temper  on  Tom.  "You  and  my  boy  have  been  having  a  fight. 
You  licked  him  and  saved  me  the  trouble.  I  heard  from  Mr. 
Eivers  what  Tom  said." 

"It  was  no  one's  business  but  Tom's  and  mine,"  returned 
John  much  amused  to  know  that  the  peaceful  rector  must  have 
watched  the  fight  and  overheard  what  caused  it.  Tom  scowled, 
and  the  peacemaking  old  doctor  got  up,  adding,  "  Be  more  gentle 
with  Tom  next  time." 

Tom  knew  better  than  to  reply  and  went  back  to  pill-making 
furious  and  humiliated. 

"  Good-bye,  John/3  said  the  Doctor.  "  I  '11  see  the  Squire  after 
I  have  doctored  that  whisky  sponge."  Then  John  rode  home 
on  Dixy. 


CHAPTEE  VII 

BEFOEE  the  period  of  which  I  write,  the  county  and  town 
had  unfailingly  voted  the  Democratic  ticket.  But  for 
half  a  decade  the  unrest  of  the  cities  reflected  in  the  journals 
had  been  disturbing  the  minds  of  country  communities  in  the 
Middle  States.  In  the  rural  districts  of  Pennsylvania  there  had 
been  very  little  actively  hostile  sentiment  about  slavery,  but  the 
never  ending  disputes  over  Kansas  had  at  last  begun  to  weaken 
party  ties,  and  more  and  more  to  direct  opinion  on  to  the 
originating  cause  of  trouble. 

The  small  voting  population  of  Westways  had  begun  to  sus 
pect  of  late  that  James  Penhallow's  unwillingness  to  discuss 
politics  meant  some  change  in  his  fidelity  to  the  party  of  which 
Buchanan  was  the  candidate.  What  Mrs.  Ann  felt  she  had 
rather  freely  allowed  to  be  known.  The  little  groups  which 
were  apt  to  gather  about  the  grocer's  barrels  at  evening  dis 
cussed  the  grave  question  of  the  day  with  an  interest  no  pre 
vious  presidential  canvass  had  caused,  and  this  side  eddy  of 
quiet  village  life  was  now  agreeably  disturbed  by  the  great  cur 
rents  of  national  politics.  Westways  began  to  take  itself  se 
riously,  as  little  towns  will  at  times,  and  to  ask  how  this  man 
or  that  would  vote  at  the  coming  election  in  November.  The 
old  farmers  who  from  his  youth  still  called  the  Squire  "  James  " 
were  Democrats.  Swallow,  the  only  lawyer  the  town  possessed, 
was  silent,  which  was  felt  as  remarkable  in  a  man  who  usually 
talked  much  more  than  occasion  demanded  and  wore  a  habit- 
mask  of  good-fellowship,  which  had  served  to  deceive  many  a 
blunt  old  farmer,  but  not  James  Penhallow. 

At  Grey  Pine  there  was  a  sense  of  tension.     Penhallow  was 


WESTWAYS  99 

a  man  slow  in  thinking  out  conclusions,  but  in  times  demand 
ing  action  swiftly  decisive.  He  had  at  last  settled  in  his  mind 
that  he  must  leave  his  party  and  follow  a  leader  he  had  known 
in  the  army  and  never  entirely  trusted.  Whether  he  should  take 
an  active  share  in  the  politics  of  the  county  troubled  him,  as 
he  had  told  Eivers.  He  must,  of  course,  tell  his  wife  how  he 
had  resolved  to  vote.  To  speak  here  and  there  at  meetings,  to 
throw  himself  into  the  contest,  was  quite  another  matter.  His 
wife  would  feel  deeply  grieved.  Between  the  two  influential  feel 
ings  the  resolution  of  forces,  as  he  put  it  to  himself  with  a  sad 
smile,  decided  him  to  hold  his  tongue  so  far  as  the  outer 
world  was  concerned,  to  vote  for  the  principles  unfortunately 
represented  by  Fremont,  but  to  have  one  frank  talk  with  Ann 
Penhallow.  There  was  no  need  to  do  this  as  yet,  and  he  smiled 
again  at  the  thought  that  Mrs.  Ann  was,  as  he  pretty  well  knew, 
playing  the  game  of  politics  at  Westways.  He  might  stop  her. 
He  could  ask  her  to  hold  her  hand,  but  to  let  her  continue  on 
her  way  and  to  openly  make  war  against  her,  that  he  could  not 
do.  It  did  not  matter  much  as  the  State  in  any  case  would 
go  for  Buchanan.  He  hesitated,  and  had  better  have  been  plain 
with  her.  She  knew  that  he  had  been  long  in  doubt,  but  did 
not  as  yet  suspect  how  complete  was  his  desertion  of  opinions 
she  held  to  as  she  did  to  her  religious  creed.  He  found  relief 
in  his  decision,  and  too  in  freedom  of  talk  with  Eivers,  who 
looked  upon  slavery  as  simply  wicked  and  had  no  charity  for 
the  section  so  little  responsible  for  an  inherited  curse  they  were 
now  driven  by  opponent  criticism  to  consider  a  blessing  for  all 
concerned. 

John  too  was  asking  questions  and  beginning  now  and  then 
to  wonder  more  and  more  that  what  Westways  discussed  should 
never  be  mentioned  at  Grey  Pine.  He  rode  Dixy  early  in  the 
mornings  with  Leila  at  his  side,  fished  or  swam  in  the  after 
noons,  and  so  the  days  ran  on.  On  September  30th,  Ann  was  to 
take  Leila  to  the  school  in  Maryland.  Three  days  before  this 


100  WESTWAYS 

terrible  exile  was  t'o  begin,  as  they  turned  in  at  the  gate  of 
the  stable-yard,  Leila  said,  "  I  have  only  three  days.  I  want 
to  go  and  see  the  Indian  graves  and  the  spring,  and  all  the 
dear  places  I  feel  as  if  I  shall  never  see  again." 

"  What  nonsense,  Leila.     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Ann  says  I  will  be  so  changed  in  a  year,  I  won't 
know  myself." 

"  You  mean,  you  won't  see  things  then  as  they  are  seen  now/' 

"  Yes,  that 's  what  I  wanted  to  say,  but  you  always  know  how 
to  find  the  right  words." 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said.  "  Things  never  look  just  the  same  to 
morrow,  but  they  may  look  —  well,  nicer  —  or  —  I  can't  always 
find  the  right  word.  Suppose  we  walk  to  the  graves  after  lunch 
and  have  a  good  talk."  It  was  so  agreed. 

They  were  never  quite  free  from  the  chance  of  being  sent 
on  errands,  and  as  Aunt  Ann  showed  signs  they  well  knew,  they 
slipped  away  quietly  and  were  gone  before  the  ever-busy  lady 
had  ready  a  basket  of  contributions  to  the  comfort  of  a  sick 
woman  in  the  village.  They  -crossed  the  garden  and  were  lost 
to  view  in  the  woods  before  Leila  spoke.  "  We  just  did  it. 
Billy  will  have  to  go."  They  laughed  merrily  at  their  escape. 

"Just  think,  John,  how  long  it  is  since  you  came.  It  seems 
years.  Oh,  you  were  a  queer  boy !  I  just  hated  you." 

"  I  do  suppose,  Leila,  I  must  have  looked  odd  with  that  funny 
cap  and  the  cane — " 

"  And  the  way  you  looked  when  I  told  you  about  swinging 
on  the  gate.  I  had  n't  done  that  for  —  oh,  two  years.  What 
did  you  think  of  me  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  were  very  rude,  and  then  —  oh,  Leila !  when 
you  came  up  out  of  the  drift — "  He  hesitated. 

"  Oh,  go  on ;  I  don't  mind  —  not  now." 

"  I  thought  you  beautiful  with  all  that  splendid  hair  on  the 
snow." 

"  Oh,  John !     How  silly !  "     Whether  or  not  she  was  unusually 


WESTWAYS  l;jl 

good  to  look  at  had  hardly  ever  before  occurred  to  her.  She 
flushed  slightly,  pleased  and  wondering,  with  a  new  seed  of 
gentle  vanity  planted  in  her  simple  nature,  a  child  on  the 
threshold  of  the  womanly  inheritance  of  maidenhood. 

Then  he  said  gravely,  "  It  is  wonderful  to  me  how  we  have 
changed.  I  shall  miss  you.  To  think  you  are  the  only  girl 
I  ever  played  with,  and  now  when  you  come  back  at  Christ 
mas  — " 

"  I  am  not  to  come  back  then,  John.  I  am  to  stay  with  my 
uncles  in  Baltimore  and  not  come  home  until  next  June." 

"  You  will  be  a  young  lady  in  long  skirts  and  your  hair 
tucked  up.  It 's  dreadful." 

"  Can't  be  helped,  John.  You  will  look  after  Lucy,  and  write 
to  me." 

"  And  you  will  write  to  me,  Leila  ?  " 

"If  I  may.  Aunt  says  they  are  very  strict.  But  I  shall 
write  to  Aunt  Ann,  of  course." 

"  That  won't  be  the  same." 

"  No." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  little  while,  the  girl  gazing 
idly  at  the  tall  trees,  the  lad  feeling  strangely  aware,  freshly 
aware,  as  they  moved,  of  the  great  blue  eyes  and  of  the  sun- 
shafts  falling  on  the  abundant  hair  she  swept  back  from  time 
to  time  with  a  careless  hand.  Presently  she  stood  still,  and 
sat  down  without  a  word  on  the  moss-cushioned  trunk  of  a  great 
spruce,  fallen  perhaps  a  century  ago.  She  was  passing  through 
momentary  moods  of  depression  or  of  pleasure  as  she  thought 
of  change  and  travel,  or  nourishing  little  jealous  desires  that 
her  serious-minded  cousin  should  miss  her. 

The  cousin  turned  back.  "  You  might  have  invited  me  to 
sit  down,  Miss  Grey."  He  laughed,  and  then  as  he  fell  on  the 
brown  pine-needles  at  her  feet  and  looked  up,  he  saw  that  her 
usual  quick  response  to  his  challenge  of  mirth  was  wanting. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about  ?  "  he  asked. 


102  WESTWAYS 

"  Oh,  about  Aunt  Ann  and  Uncle  Jim,  and  —  and  —  Lucy, 
and  who  will  ride  her — " 

"  You  can  trust  Uncle  Jim  about  Lucy." 

"  I  suppose  so/'  said  the  girl  rather  dolefully  and  too  near 
to  the  tears  she  had  been  sternly  taught  to  suppress. 

"  Is  n't  it  queer,"  he  said,  "  how  people  think  about  the  same 
things  ?  I  was  just  going  to  speak  of  Aunt  Ann  and  Uncle  Jim. 
Uncle  Jim  often  talks  to  me  and  to  Mr.  Rivers  about  the  elec 
tion,  but  if  I  say  a  word  or  ask  a  question  at  table,  Aunt  Ann 
says,  '  we  don't  talk  politics/  * 

"But  once,  John,  I  heard  Mr.  Rivers  say  that  slavery  was  a 
curse  and  wicked.  Uncle  Jim,  he  said  Aunt  Ann's  people  held 
slaves,  and  he  did  n't  want  to  talk  about  it.  I  could  n't  hear  the 
rest.  I  told  you  once  about  this." 

"  How  you  hear  things,  Leila.  Prince  Fine  Ear  was  a  trifle 
to  you." 

"  Who  was  Prince  Fine  Ear  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  he  was  the  fairy  prince  who  could  hear  the  grass  grow 
and  the  roses  talk.  It's  a  pretty  French  fairy  tale." 

"  What  a  gabble  there  must  be  in  the  garden,  John." 

"  It  does  n't  need  Prince  Fine  Ear  to  hear.  Don't  these  big 
pines  talk  to  you  sometimes,  and  the  wind  in  the  pines  —  the 
winds—?" 

"  No,  they  don't,  but  Lucy  does." 

Something  like  a  feeling  of  disappointment  faintly  disturbed 
the  play  of  his  fancies.  "  Let  us  go  to  the  graves." 

"  Yes,  all  right,  come." 

They  got  no  further  than  the  cabin  and  again  sat  down  near 
by,  Leila  carelessly  gathering  the  early  golden-rod  in  her  lap 
as  they  sat  leaning  against  the  cabin  logs. 

"  This  is  our  last  walk,"  she  said,  arranging  the  golden 
plumes.  "  There  is  a  white  golden-rod ;  find  me  another,  John." 

He  went  away  to  the  back  of  the  cabin  and  returning  threw  in 
her  lap  a  half  dozen.  "  Old  Josiah  says  the  blacks  in  the 


WESTWAYS  103 

South  think  it  is  good  luck  to  find  the  first  white  golden-rod. 
Then,  he  says,  you  must  have  a  luck-wish.  What  shall  it  be? 
Come  —  quick  now." 

"Oh,  I  —  don't  know.     Yes,  I  wish  to  have  Lucy  at  that 
terrible  boarding-school." 

John  laughed.     "  Oh,  Leila,  is  that  the  best  you  can  do  ?  " 
"  Yes,  wish  a  wish  for  me,  if  mine  does  n't  suit." 
Then  he  said,  "I  wish  the  school  had  small-pox  and  you 
had  to  stay  at  Grey  Pine." 

"  I  did  n't  think  you  'd  care  as  much  as  that.     Are  n't  these 
flowers  beautiful?     Wish  me  a  real  wish." 

"  Then,  I  wish  that  when  we  grow  up  you  would  marry  me." 
"Well,  John,  you  are  a  silly."     She  took  on  an  air  of  au 
thoritative  reprimand.     "Why,  John,  you  are  only  a  boy,  but 
you  ought  to  know  better  than  to  talk  such  nonsense." 
"  And  you,"  he  said,  "  are  just  a  little  girl." 
"  Oh,  I  'm  not  so  very  little,"  returned  Miss  Grey. 
"  When  I  'm  older,  I  shall  ask  you  again ;  and  if  you  say  no, 
I  '11  ask  again  —  and  —  until  — " 

"  What  nonsense,  John.     Let 's  go  home." 
He  rose  flushed  and  troubled,  and  said,  "  Are  you  vexed, 
Leila?" 

"  No,  of  course  not ;  but  it  was  foolish  of  you." 
He  made  no  reply,  in  fact  hardly  heard  her.  He  was  for  the 
moment  older  in  some  ways  than  his  years.  What  had  strangely 
moved  him  disturbed  Leila  not  at  all.  She  talked  on  lightly, 
laughing  at  times,  and  was  answered  briefly;  for  although  he 
had  no  desire  to  speak,  the  unfailing  courteous  ways  of  his 
foreign  education  forced  him  to  disregard  his  desire  to  say,  "  Oh, 
do  let  me  alone;  you  don't  understand."  He  hardly  understood 
himself  or  the  impulsive  stir  of  emotion  —  a  signal  of  coming 
manhood.  Annoyed  by  his  unwillingness  to  talk,  she  too  fell 
to  silence,  and  they  walked  homeward. 

During  the  time  left  to  them  there  was  much  to  do  in  the  way 


104  WESTWAYS 

of  visits  to  the  older  village  people  and  some  of  the  farmer 
families  who  had  been  here  on  the  soil  nearly  as  long  as  the 
Penhallows.  There  were  no  other  neighbours  near  enough  for 
country  intercourse,  and  the  life  at  Grey  Pine  offered  few  at 
tractions  to  friends  or  relatives  from  the  cities  unless  they  liked 
to  tramp  with  the  Squire  in  search  of  game.  The  life  was, 
therefore,  lonely  and  would  for  some  women  have  been  unen 
durable  ;  but  as  the  Baptist  preacher  said  to  Eivers,  "  Duties  are 
enough  to  satisfy  Mrs.  Penhallow,  and  I  do  guess  she  enjoys  her 
own  goodness  like  the  angels  must  do." 

Mark  Rivers  answered,  "  That  is  pretty  nearly  true,  but  I 
wish  she  would  not  invent  duties  which  don't  belong  to  women." 

"  About  the  election,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes.  It  troubles  me,  and  I  am  sure  it  troubles  the  Squire. 
What  about  yourself,  Grace  ?  "  and  a  singularly  sad  smile  went 
with  the  query  and  a  side  glance  at  his  friend's  face.  He  had 
been  uneasy  about  him  since  Grace  had  bent  a  little  in  the  House 
of  Rimmon. 

"  Oh,  Rivers,  the  roof  has  got  to  leak.  I  have  kept  away  from 
Mrs.  Penhallow.  I  can't  accept  her  help  and  then  preach 
against  her  party,  and  —  I  mean  to  do  it.  I  've  wrestled  with 
this  little  sin  and  —  I  don't  say  I  was  n't  tempted  —  I  was. 
Now  I  am  clear.  We  Baptists  can  stand  what  water  leaks  down 
on  us  from  Heaven." 

"  You  mean  to  preach  politics,  Grace  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that 's  what  I  mean  to  do.  Oh !  here  comes  Mrs.  Pen 
hallow." 

They  had  met  in  front  of  Josiah's  shop.  As  Mrs.  Penhallow 
approached,  Mr.  Grace  discovering  a  suddenly  remembered  en 
gagement  hurried  away,  and  Rivers  went  with  her  along  the 
rough  sidewalk  of  Westways. 

"  I  go  away  to-morrow  with  Leila,"  she  said,  "  and  Mr.  Pen 
hallow  goes  to  Pittsburgh.  We  shall  leave  John  to  you  for  at 
least  a  week.  He  will  give  you  no  trouble.  He  has  quite  lost 


WESTWAYS  105 

his  foreign  boyish  ways,  and  don't  you  think  he  is  like  my 
husband?" 

"  He  is  in  some  ways  very  like  the  Squire." 

"  Yes,  in  some  things  —  I  so  rarely  leave  home  that  this 
journey  to  Baltimore  with  Leila  seems  to  me  like  foreign 
travel." 

"Does  Leila  like  it?" 

"  No,  but  it  is  time  she  was  thrown  among  girls.  She  is  less 
than  she  was  a  mere  wild  boy.  It  is  strange,  Mark,  that  ever 
since  John  came  she  has  been  less  of  a  hoyden  —  and  more  of 
a  simple  girl." 

"  It  is/'  he  said,  "  a  fine  young  nature  in  a  strong  body.  She 
has  the  promise  of  beauty  —  whatever  that  may  be  worth." 

"  Worth !  It  is  worth  a  great  deal,"  said  Mrs.  Ann.  "  It 
helps.  The  moral  value  of  beauty !  Ah,  Mark  Rivers,  I  should 
like  to  discuss  that  with  you.  She  is  at  the  ugly  duck  age. 
Now  I  must  go  home.  I  want  you  to  look  after  some  things 
while  I  am  away,  and  Mr.  Penhallow  is  troubled  about  his  pet 
scamp,  Lamb." 

She  went  on  with  her  details  of  what  he  was  to  do,  until  he 
said  laughing,  "  Please  to  put  it  on  paper." 

"  I  will.  Not  to  leave  John  quite  alone,  I  have  arranged  for 
you  to  dine  with  him,  and  I  suppose  he  will  go  to  you  in  the 
mornings  for  his  lessons  as  usual." 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course.  I  enjoy  these  fellows,  but  the  able  ones 
are  John  and  Tom  McGregor.  Tom  is  in  the  rough  as  yet,  but 
he  will  come  out  all  right.  I  shall  lose  him  in  a  year.  He  is 
over  seventeen  and  is  to  study  medicine.  But  what  about 
Lamb?" 

"  I  am  wicked  enough  to  wish  he  were  really  ill.  It  is  only 
the  usual  drunken  bout,  but  he  is  a  sort  of  Frankenstein  to  the 
Squire  because  of  that  absurd  foster-brother  feeling.  He  is 
still  in  bed,  I  presume." 

"  As  you  ask  it,"  said  Eivers,  "  I  will  see  him,  but  if  he  be- 


106  WESTWAYS 

longs  to  any  flock,  he  is  a  black  sheep  of  Grace's  fold.  Any 
thing  else,  Mrs.  Penhallow  ?  "  he  asked  smiling  — "  but  don't 
trust  my  memory." 

"  If  I  think  of  anything  more,  I  shall  make  a  note  of  it  and, 
of  course,  you  will  see  us  at  the  station  —  the  ten  o'clock  train 
—  and  give  me  a  list  of  the  books  you  wanted.  I  may  find  them 
in  Philadelphia." 

"  Thank  you." 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  turning  back,  "  I  forgot.  My  cousin,  George 
Grey,  is  coming,  but  he  is  so  uncertain  that  he  may  come  as  he 
advises  me  in  ten  days,  or  as  is  quite  possible  to-morrow,  or  not 
at  all." 

"Very  good.  If  he  comes,  we  will  try  to  make  Grey  Pine 
agreeable." 

"  That  is  really  all,  Mark,  I  think,"  and  the  little  lady  went 
away,  with  a  pleasant  word  for  the  long  familiar  people  as  she 
went  by. 

In  the  afternoon  Leila  saw  the  Squire  ride  to  the  mills  with 
John,  and  went  herself  to  the  stable  for  a  last  mournful  inter 
view  with  Lucy.  It  was  as  well  that  her  aunt  with  unconscious 
good  sense  kept  her  busy  until  dinner-time.  The  girl  was  near 
to  accepting  the  relieving  bribe  of  unrestrained  tears,  being  sad 
and  at  the  age  of  those  internal  conflicts  which  at  the  time  of 
incomplete  formation  of  character  are  apt  to  trouble  the  more 
sensitive  sex.  A  good  hard  gallop  would  have  cured  her  an- 
ticipative  homesickness,  for  it  must  be  a  very  black  care  indeed 
that  keeps  its  seat  behind  the  rider. 

The  next  morning  the  rector  and  John  were  at  the  station 
of  Westways  Crossroads  when  the  Grey  Pine  carriage  drove  up. 
Mrs.  Ann  and  Leila  were  a  half  hour  too  early,  as  was  Mrs. 
Penhallow's  habit.  Billy  was  on  the  cart  with  the  baggage, 
grinning  as  usual  and  full  of  self-importance. 

"Well,  Billy,"  said  Leila,  talking  to  every  one  to  conceal  her 


WESTWAY9  107 

child-grief  at  this  parting  with  the  joyous  activities  of  her  en 
ergetic  young  life.  "Well,  Billy,  it's  good-bye  for  a  year." 

"  Won't  have  no  more  fun,  Miss  Leila  —  and  nobody  to  snow 
ball  Billy,  this  winter/' 

"  No,  not  this  winter." 

"  Found  another  ground-hog  yesterday.  I  '11  let  her  alone  till 
you  come  back." 

John  laughed.  "Miss  Leila  will  have  long  skirts  and  — 
hoops,  Billy.  There  will  be  no  more  coasting  and  no  more 
snowballing  or  digging  up  ground-hogs." 

"Hoops  —  what  for?"  said  Billy.     John  laughed. 

"  Please  don't,  John,"  she  said,  "  it 's  too  dreadful.  Oh  1  I 
hear  the  whistle." 

"Mark,"  said  Mrs.  Ann,  "if  George  Grey  comes  —  James, 
did  you  leave  the  wine-closet  key  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  dear." 

He  turned  to  Leila,  and  kissing  her  said,  "  A  year  is  soon  over. 
Be  a  good  girl,  my  child.  It  is  about  as  bad  for  me  as  for  you. 
God  bless  you.  There,  get  on,  Ann.  Yes,  the  trunks  are  all 
right.  Good-bye." 

He  stood  a  moment  with  John  looking  after  the  vanishing 
train.  Then,  he  said,  "No  need  to  stay  here  with  me,  Mark," 
and  the  rector  understanding  him  left  him  waiting  for  the  west 
bound  train  and  walked  home  across  the  fields  with  John  Pen- 
hallow. 

John  was  long  silent,  but  at  last  said,  "  It  will  be  pretty 
lonesome  without  Leila." 

"  Nice  word,  lonesome,  John.  Old  English,  I  believe  —  has 
had  its  adventures  like  some  other  words.  Lonely  does  n't  ex 
press  as  well  the  idea  of  being  alone  and  sorrowful.  We  must 
do  our  best  for  your  uncle  and  aunt.  Your  turn  to  leave  us 
will  come,  and  then  Leila  will  be  lonesome." 

"  I  don't  think  she  will  care  as  much." 


108  WESTWAYS 

Elvers  glanced  at  the  strong  young  face.  "  Why  do  you  say 
that?" 

"  I  don't  know,  Mr.  Elvers.  I  —  she  is  more  of  a  child  than 
I  am." 

"  That  hardly  answers  my  question.  But  I  must  leave  you. 
I  am  going  to  see  that  scamp  misnamed  Lamb.  See  you  at 
dinner.  Don't  cultivate  lonesomeness,  John.  No  one  is  ever 
really  alone." 

Leaving  his  pupil  to  consider  what  John  thought  rather  too 
much  of  an  enigma,  the  young  clergyman  took  to  the  dusty  high 
way  which  led  to  Westways.  John  watched  the  tall  figure 
awkwardly  climbing  a  snake  fence,  and  keeping  in  mind  for 
explanation  the  clergyman's  last  remark  he  went  away  through 
the  woods. 


CHAPTEE  VIII 

PEISTHALLOW  had  gravely  told  John  that  in  his  absence 
he  must  look  after  the  stables  and  the  farm,  so  that  now 
he  had  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  responsibilities.  The  horses 
and  the  stables  were  to  be  looked  over  every  day.  Of  course,  too, 
he  must  ride  to  the  Squire's  farm,  which  was  two  miles  away, 
and  which  was  considered  a  model  of  all  that  a  farm  should 
be.  The  crop  yield  to  the  acre  was  most  satisfactory,  but  when 
some  one  of  the  old  Quaker  farmers,  whose  apple-orchards  the 
Squire  had  plundered  when  young,  walked  over  it  and  asked, 
"  Well,  James,  how  much  did  thee  clear  this  last  year  ?  "  the 
owner  would  honestly  confess  that  Mrs.  Ann's  kitchen-garden 
paid  better;  but  then  she  gave  away  what  the  house  did  not 
use. 

Very  many  years  before  slavery  had  become  by  tacit  consent 
avoided  as  a  subject  for  discussion,  Mrs.  Ann  critical  of  what 
his  farm  cost,  being  herself  country-bred,  had  said  that  if  it 
were  worked  with  Maryland  blacks  it  would  pay  and  pay  well. 

"  You  mean,  dear,  that  if  I  owned  the  labour,  it  would  pay." 

"  Yes,"  she  returned  gaily,  "  and  with  me  for  your  farmeress." 

"  You  are,  you  are ! "  he  laughed,  "  and  you  have  cultivated 
me.  I  am  well  broken  to  your  satisfaction,  I  trust;  but  to  me, 
Ann,  the  unpaid  labour  of  the  slave  seems  impossible." 

"  Oh,  James,  it  is  not  only  possible,  but  right  for  us  who 
know  what  for  all  concerned  is  best." 

"Well,  well,"  he  laughed,  "the  vegetable  garden  seems  to  be 
run  at  a  profit  without  them  —  ah  !  Ann,  how  about  that  ?  " 

The  talk  was,  as  they  both  knew,  more  serious  than  it  would 
have  seemed  to  any  one  who  might  have  chanced  to  be  present. 

109 


110  WESTWAYS 

The  tact  born  of  perfect  love  has  the  certainty  of  instinct,  and 
to  be  sensitive  even  to  tenderness  in  regard  to  the  prejudices  or 
the  fixed  opinions  of  another  does  much  to  insure  happiness 
both  in  friendship  and  in  love.  Here  with  these  two 
people  was  a  radical  difference  of  belief  concerning  what  was  to 
be  more  and  more  a  hard  subject  as  the  differences  of  sentiment 
North  and  South  became  sharply  denned.  Westways  and  the 
mills  understood  her,  and  what  were  her  political  beliefs,  but 
not  the  laughingly  guarded  silence  of  the  much'  loved  and 
usually  outspoken  Squire,  who  now  and  then  relieved  his  mind 
by  talking  political  history  to  John  or  Rivers. 

The  stables  and  farm  were  seriously  inspected  and  opinions 
expressed  concerning  colts  and  horses  to  the  amusement  of  the 
grooms.  He  presided  in  Penhallow's  place  at  table  with  some 
sense  of  newly  acquired  importance,  and  on  the  fourth  day  of 
his  uncle's  absence,  at  Mark  Rivers's  request,  asked  Mr.  Grace 
to  join  them.  The  good  Baptist  was  the  more  pleased  to  come 
in  the  absence  of  Mrs.  Penhallow,  who  liking  neither  his  creed 
nor  his  manners,  respected  the  goodness  of  a  life  of  self-denial, 
which,  as  his  friend  Rivers  knew,  really  left  him  with  hardly 
enough  to  keep  his  preaching  soul  alive. 

"  Grace  is  late,  as  usual,"  said  Rivers  to  John.  "  He  has,  I 
believe,  no  acquaintance  with  minutes  and  no  more  conception 
of  time  than  the  angels.  Ah!  I  see  him.  His  table-manners 
really  distress  your  aunt ;  but  manners  are  —  well,  we  will  leave 
that  to  another  time.  Good  evening,  Grace." 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  sir,"  said  John. 

On  a  word  from  Rivers,  the  guest  offered  thanks,  which  some 
what  amazed  John  by  its  elaborate  repetitions. 

The  stout  little  preacher,  carefully  tucking  his  napkin  be> 
tween  his  paper  shirt-collar  and  his  neck,  addressed  himself  to 
material  illustration  of  his  thankfulness,  while  the  rector  ob 
served  with  a  pitiful  interest  the  obvious  animal  satisfaction  of 
the  man.  John  with  more  amusement  saw  the  silver  fork  used 


WESTWAYS  111 

for  a  time  and  at  last  abandoned  for  use  of  the  knife.  Uncon 
sciously  happier  for  an  unusually  good  dinner,  Grace  accepted 
a  tumbler  of  the  Penhallow  cider,  remarking,  "  I  never  take 
spirits,  Rivers,  but  I  suppose  cider  to  be  a  quite  innocent  bever- 
age." 

Rivers  smiled.     "  It  will  do  you  no  harm." 

"  It  occurs  to  me,  Rivers,"  said  Grace,  "  that  although  wine  is 
mentioned  in  the  Bible,  cider  is  not.  There  is  no  warning 
against  its  use.7' 

It  also  occurred  to  Rivers  that  there  was  none  against  apple 
jack.  "  Quite  right,"  he  said.  "  You  make  me  think  of  that 
scamp3  Lamb.  McGregor  tells  me  that  he  is  very  ill." 

"  A  pity  he  would  n't  die,"  remarked  the  young  host,  who  had 
indiscreetly  taken  two  full  tumblers  of  old  hard  cider  before 
Rivers  had  noticed  his  unaccustomed  use  of  this  rather  potent 
drink. 

"You  should  not  desire  the  death  of  any  man,  John,"  said 
Grace,  "  least  of  all  the  death  of  a  sinner  like  Lamb." 

"  Really,"  said  John  with  the  dignity  of  just  a  trifle  too  much 
cider,  "  my  phrase  did  not  admit  of  your  construction." 

"No,"  laughed  Rivers,  seeing  it  well  to  intervene,  "and  yet 
to  say  it  is  a  pity  may  be  a  kindly  wish  and  leaves  it  open  to 
charitable  interpretation." 

"  He  is  quite  unprepared  to  die,"  insisted  Grace,  with  the 
clerical  intonation  which  Rivers  disliked. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  "  asked  Rivers. 

"  I  know,"  said  John  confidently.  "  He  told  me  he  was  a 
born  thief  and  loved  to  lie.  He  was  pretty  drunk  at  the  time." 

"  That  is  too  nearly  true  to  be  pleasant,"  remarked  Rivers, 
"  e  in  vino  veritas/  The  man  is  a  very  strange  nature.  I  think 
he  never  forgives  a  benefit.  I  sometimes  think  he  has  no  sense 
of  the  difference  between  right  and  wrong  —  an  unmoral  nature, 
beyond  your  preaching  or  mine,  Grace,  even  if  he  ever  gave  us  a 
chance." 


112  WESTWAYS 

"  I  think  he  is  a  cruel  beast/'  said  John.     "  I  saw  him  once  — " 

Rivers  interrupted  him  saying,  as  he  rose,  "  Suppose  we 
smoke." 

With  unconscious  imitation  of  the  courteous  Squire  he  rep 
resented,  John  said,  "  We  will  smoke  in  the  library  if  you  have 
had  enough  wine." 

Rivers  said,  "  Certainly,  Squire,"  not  altogether  amused  as 
John,  a  little  embarrassed,  said  quickly,  "  I  should  have  said 
cider." 

"Of  course,  we  have  had  no  wine,  quite  a  natural  mistake," 
remarked  Grace,  which  the  representative  squire  felt  to  be  a  very 
disagreeable  comment. 

"  You  will  find  cigars  and  pipes  on  the  table,"  said  the  rec 
tor,  "  and  I  will  join  you  in  a  moment."  So  saying  he  detained 
John  by  a  hand  on  his  arm  and  led  him  aside  as  they  crossed 
the  hall. 

"  You  are  feeling  that  old  hard  cider,  my  boy.  You  had  bet 
ter  go  to  bed.  I  should  have  warned  you." 

"  Yes,  sir  —  I  —  did  not  —  I  mean  —  I  — " 

"  C'est  une  diablesse  —  a  little  devil.  There  are  others,  and 
worse  ones,  John.  Good-night." 

On  the  stairs  the  young  fellow  felt  a  deepening  sense  of  hu 
miliation  and  surprise  as  he  became  aware  of  the  value  of  the 
banister-rail. 

Rivers  went  into  the  library  blaming  his  want  of  care,  and  a 
little  sorry  for  the  lad's  evident  distress.  "  What,  not  smoking, 
Grace?" 

"  No,  I  have  given  it  up." 

"But,  why?" 

"  Well,  I  can't  smoke  cheap  strong  tobacco,  and  I  can't  afford 
better  stuff." 

"  Then,  be  at  ease,  my  friend.  The  Squire  has  sent  me  a 
large  supply.  I  am  to  divide  with  you,"  which  was  as  near  to 
a  fib  as  the  young  clergyman  ever  got  in  his  blameless  life. 


WESTWAYS  113 

"I  shall  thank  him/'  returned  Grace  simply,  "and  return 
to  my  pipe,  but  I  do  sometimes  think  it  is  too  weak  an  indul 
gence  of  a  slavish  habit/' 

"Hardly  worth  while  to  thank  Penhallow;  he  will  have  for 
gotten  all  about  it." 

"  But  I  shall  not." 

They  smoked  and  talked  politics,  and  the  village  and  their 
work,  until  at  last,  after  one  of  the  pipe-filling  pauses,  Grace 
said,  "  I  ought  not  to  have  taken  that  cider,  but  it  singularly  re 
freshed  me.  You  did  not  partake." 

"  No,  it  disagrees  with  me." 

"  I  feel  it,  Brother  Eivers.  I  feel  it  slightly,  and  —  I  —  a 
man  who  preaches  temperance,  total  abstinence  — " 

"  My  dear  Grace,  that  is  not  temperance.  There  may  be  in 
temperance  in  the  way  a  man  puts  his  opinions  before  others  — 
a  man  may  hurt  his  own  cause — " 

Grace  returned  quickly,  "  You  were  in  our  church  Wednesday 
night  —  I  saw  you.  You  think  I  was  intemperate  ?  " 

"  Frankly,  yes.  You  were  abusive.  You  are  too  well  self- 
governed  to  understand  the  working-man's  temptations.  You 
preached  from  the  heart  as  you  felt,  without  the  charity  of  the 
head." 

"  Perhaps  —  perhaps,"  he  returned  humbly ;  and  then  with  a 
quite  gentle  retort,  "  Don't  you  sometimes  preach  too  much  from 
the  head,  Brother  Eivers?" 

"  Yes,  that  may  be  the  case.  I  am  conscious  sometimes  that  I 
lack  your  power  of  direct  appeal  —  your  personal  application  of 
the  truth.  I  ought  to  preach  the  first  half  of  the  sermon  —  the 
appeal  to  the  reason,  the  head  part  —  and  ask  you  to  conclude 
with  the  heart  share  —  the  personal  application  of  my  cold 
logic." 

"  Let  us  try  it,"  said  Grace  rising  and  much  amused ;  "  cold, 
Rivers !  your  cold  logic !  There  is  nothing  cold  in  all  your  na 
ture.  Let  us  go  home ;  we  have  had  a  good  talk." 


114  WESTWAYS 

As  they  walked  down  the  avenue  Grace  said,  "What  are  you 
doing  about  Lamb  ?  Is  it  really  wise  to  talk  to  him  ?  " 

"  Just  now,"  said  the  rector,  "  he  has  acquired  a  temporary 
conscience  in  the  shape  of  a  congested  stomach.  I  talked  to  him 
a  little.  He  is  penitent,  or  says  he  is,  and  as  his  mother  is  some 
times  absent,  I  have  set  Billy  to  care  for  him ;  some  one  must.  I 
have  found  that  to  keep  Billy  on  a  job  you  must  give  him  a  daily 
allowance  of  chewing  tobacco;  that  answers." 

"Bad  company,  Brother  Rivers." 

"  Oh,  there  is  no  guile  in  Billy." 

They  parted  at  the  Grey  Pine  gate.  Eivers  had  innocently 
prepared  remote  mischief,  which  by  no  possible  human  foresight 
could  he  have  anticipated.  When,  walking  in  the  quiet  of  a 
lonely  wood,  a  man  sets  his  foot  on  a  dead  branch,  the  far  end 
stirs  another,  and  the  motion  so  transmitted  agitates  a  half 
dozen  feet  away  the  leaves  of  a  group  of  ferns.  The  man  stops 
and  suspects  some  little  woodland  citizen  as  the  cause  of  the  un 
explained  movement;  thus  it  is  in  the  affairs  of  life.  We  do 
some  innocent  thing  and  are  puzzled  to  explain  how  it  brings 
about  remote  mischief. 

Meanwhile  an  unendurable  craving  for  drink  beset  the  man 
Lamb,  who  was  the  prey  of  slowly  lessening  delusions.  Guard 
ian  Billy  chewed  his  daily  supply  of  tobacco  and  sat  at  the  win 
dow  in  the  hot  second-storey  room  feeding  Lamb  with  brief 
phrases  concerning  what  he  saw  on  the  street. 

"  Oh !  there  go  Squire's  horses  for  exercise ;  Joe 's  on 
Lucy." 

"Damn  Lucy!     Do  you  go  to  mother's  room — " 

"What  for?" 

"  Oh,  she  keeps  her  money  in  it,  and  Mrs.  Penhallow  paid  her 
in  advance  the  day  she  left." 

"  Can't  do  it,"  said  Billy,  who  had  strict  orders  not  to  leave 
Lamb  alone. 

"  Oh,  just  look  in  the  top  drawer.     She  keeps  a  bit  of  money 


WESTWAYS  115 

rolled  up  in  one  of  her  stockings.  That  will  get  me  a  little 
whisky  and  you  lots  of  tobacco." 

"Can't  do  it,"  said  Billy.  "Want  me  to  steal?  Won't  do 
it" 

"  Then  I  '11  get  even  with  you  some  day." 

Billy  laughed.  "Why  I  could  lick  you  —  like  Mr.  John 
licked  the  doctor's  son.  Gosh !  there  goes  Pole's  wagon." 

Lamb  fell  to  thought  of  how  to  get  that  whisky.  The  in 
genuity  of  the  man  who  craves  alcohol  or  morphia  is  sometimes 
surprising  even  to  the  most  experienced  doctor.  The  immoral 
ity  of  the  means  of  attainment  is  never  considered.  If,  as  with 
Lamb,  a  lie  or  worse  be  needed,  there  is  a  certain  satisfaction  in 
having  outwitted  nurse  and  doctor. 

On  the  day  after  the  two  clergymen  had  heard  John's  final 
opinion  of  Lamb,  the  bed-fast  man  received  his  daily  visit  from 
his  spiritual  physician,  and  the  clergyman  met  at  the  house  door 
the  doctor  of  the  body.  "  I  suppose,"  said  McGregor,  "  that  you 
and  I  as  concerns  this  infernal  rascal  are  under  orders  from 
Penhallow  and  his  wife.  I  at  least  have  the  satisfaction  of  be 
ing  paid  — " 

"  Oh,  I  am  paid,  Doctor,"  the  clergyman  smiled. 

"  Of  course,  any  one  and  every  one  who  serves  that  very  ef 
ficient  and  positive  saint,  Mrs.  Penhallow,  is  paid.  She's  too 
terrifyingly  good.  It  must  be  —  well,  inconvenient  at  times. 
Now  she  wants  this  animal  looked  after  because  of  Mrs.  Lamb; 
and  the  squire  has  some  sort  of  absurd  belief  that  because  the 
same  breasts  that  nursed  him  nursed  our  patient,  he  must  be 
friend  the  fellow  —  and  he  does.  Truth  is,  Eivers,  that  man's 
father  was  a  sodden  drunkard  but,  I  am  told,  not  otherwise  bad. 
It's  a  pretty  sure  doom  for  the  child.  This  man's  body  has 
damned  his  soul,  and  now  the  soul  is  paying  it  back  in  kind." 

"  The  damnation  will  be  settled  elsewhere,"  said  Eivers 
gravely.  "You  are  pleading  for  him  when  you  say  he  had  a 
father  who  drank." 


116  WESTWAYS 

"  Well,  yes,  yes.  That  is  true,  but  I  do  confoundedly  mis 
trust  him.  He  never  remembers  a  kindness  and  never  forgets 
the  smallest  injury.  But  when  Mrs.  Penhallow  puts  a  hand  on 
your  arm  and  you  look  at  her,  you  just  go  and  do  what  she 
wants  done.  Oh,  me  too!  Let's  get  out  of  this  unreasonable 
sun  and  see  this  fellow." 

Billy  was  chasing  blue-bottle  flies  on  the  window  panes,  and 
the  patient  in  bed  was  lying  still,  flushed,  with  red  eyes.  He 
was  slowly  recovering  from  an  attack  of  delirium  tremens  and 
reassembling  his  scattered  wits. 

"  Well,"  said  McGregor,  "  better,  I  see.     Bugs  gone  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  but  if  I  had  a  little,  just  a  nip  of  whisky  to  taper 
off  on,  I  ?d  be  all  right." 

"  Not  a  drop,  Peter." 

"  I  '11  die  if  I  don't  get  it." 

"  Then  die  sober." 

Peter  made  no  reply.  McGregor  felt  his  pulse,  made  his 
usual  careful  examination,  and  said  at  last,  "  Now  keep  quiet, 
and  in  a  few  days  you  '11  be  well." 

"  For  God's  sake,  give  me  whisky  —  a  little.  I  'm  so  weak  I 
can't  stand  up." 

"  No,"  said  McGregor,  "  it  will  pass.  Now  I  must  go.  A 
word  with  you,  Mr.  Eivers."  When  outside  of  the  room  he 
said,  "  We  must  trust  Billy,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Yes,  there  is  no  one  else." 

"  That  man  is  giving  his  whole  mind  to  thinking  how  he  can 
get  whisky.  He  will  lie,  cheat,  steal,  do  anything  to  get  it." 

"  How  can  he  ?  Neither  Billy  nor  his  old  mother  will  help 
him.  He  will  get  well,  Doctor,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  told  him  he  would.  More  's  the  pity.  He  is  a  per 
manent  nuisance,  up  to  any  wickedness,  a  hopelessly  ruined  wild 
beast." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Eivers ;  "  perhaps.  Who  can  be  sure  of 
that  ?  "  He  despaired  of  no  one. 


WESTWAYS  117 

The  sadly  experienced  doctor  shook  his  head.  "  He  will  live 
to  do  much  mischief.  The  good  die  young;  you  may  be  sure 
the  wicked  do  not.  In  some  ways  the  man's  case  has  its  droll 
side.  Queer  case !  in  some  ways  interesting." 

"  How  is  it  interesting  ?  "  said  Eivers. 

"  Oh,  what  he  saw  —  his  delusions  when  he  was  at  his  worst." 

"  What  did  he  see  ?  " 

"  Oh,  bugs  —  snakes  —  the  common  symptoms,  and  at  last  the 
*  Wilmot  Proviso/  Imagine  it.  He  knew  no  more  of  that  than 
of  the  physiology  of  the  man  in  the  moon.  He  described  it  as 
a  '  plucked  chicken/  }: 

"  I  suppose  that  was  a  wild  contribution  from  the  endless  po 
litical  talk  of  the  town." 

"  Well,  a  '  plucked  chicken '  was  not  so  bad.  He  saw  also 
'  Bleeding  Kansas.'  A  '  stuck  pig '  that  was ;  and  more  —  more, 
but  I  must  go." 

Eivers  went  back  to  the  room.  "  Here  is  your  tobacco,  Billy, 
and  wait  downstairs;  don't  go  away." 

The  big  man  turned  over  in  bed  as  the  clergyman  entered. 
"  Mr.  Eivers.  I  ?m  bad.  I  might  have  died.  Won't  you  pray 
for  me?" 

Eivers  hesitated,  and  then  fell  on  his  knees  at  the  bedside,  his 
face  in  his  hands.  Peter  lay  still  smiling,  grimly  attentive.  As 
Eivers  rose  to  his  feet,  Lamb  said,  "  Could  n't  I  have  just  a  lit 
tle  whisky  ?  Doctors  don't  always  know.  I  've  been  in  this 
scrape  before,  and  just  a  little  liquor  does  help  and  it  don't  do 
any  harm.  I  can't  think,  I  'm  so  harried  inside.  I  can't  even 
pray,  and  I  want  to  pray.  Now,  you  will,  sir,  won't  you  ?  " 

This  mingling  of  low  cunning,  of  childlike  appeal  and  of 
hypocrisy,  obviously  suggested  anything  but  the  Christian  char 
ity  of  reply;  what  should  he  say?  Putting  aside  angry  com 
ment,  he  fell  back  upon  his  one  constant  resource,  What  would 
Christ  have  said  to  this  sinful  man?  He  stood  so  long  silent 
by  the  bed,  which  creaked  as  Lamb  sat  up,  that  the  man's  agony 


118  WESTWAYS 

of  morbid  thirst  caught  from  his  silence  a  little  hope,  and  he 
said,  "  Now  you  will,  I  know." 

Rivers  made  no  direct  answer.  Was  it  hopeless?  He  tried 
to  read  the  face  —  the  too  thin  straight  nose,  white  between 
dusky  red  cheeks,  the  projecting  lower  lip,  and  the  lip  above 
it  long,  the  eyes  small,  red,  and  eagerly  attentive.  This  was 
not  the  time  for  reason.  He  said,  "  I  should  be  your  worst 
enemy,  Peter.  Every  one  has  been  good  to  you;  over  and  over 
the  Squire  has  saved  you  from  jail.  Mrs.  Penhallow  asked  me 
to  help  you.  Try  to  bear  what  your  sin  has  brought  on  you,  oh ! 
do  try.  Pray  God  for  help  to  bear  it  patiently." 

"  I  'm  in  hell.  What 's  the  use  of  praying  in  hell  ?  Get  me 
whisky  and  I  '11  pray." 

Rivers  felt  himself  to  be  at  the  end  of  his  resources,  and  that 
the  enfeebled  mind  was  incapable  of  response  to  any  appeal  to 
head  or  heart.  "  I  will  come  again,"  he  said.  "  Good-bye." 

"  Oh,  damn  everybody,"  muttered  Peter. 

Rivers  went  out  and  sent  Billy  up  to  take  charge.  Lamb 
was  still  sitting  up  in  bed  when  Billy  returned.  The  simple 
fellow  poured  out  in  brief  sentences  small  bits  of  what  he  had 
seen  at  the  street  door. 

"  Oh,  shut  up,"  said  Peter.  "  The  doctor  says  I  '11  feel  better 
if  I  'm  shaved  —  ain't  been  shaved  these  three  weeks.  Doctor 
wants  you  to  go  and  get  Josiah  to  come  and  fix  me  up  to-night. 
You  tell  him  it 's  the  doctor's  orders.  Don't  you  be  gone  long. 
I  'm  kind  of  lonely." 

"  All  right,"  said  Billy,  in  the  cheerful  way  which  made  him 
a  favourite  despite  his  disinclination  for  steady  work. 

"  Now,  don't  be  gone  long.     I  need  a  good  shave,  Billy." 

"  Guess  you  do  —  way  you  look  you  would  n't  fetch  five  cents 
at  one  of  them  rummage-sales.  Ain't  had  but  one  in  four 
years." 

"  Oh,  get  out,  Billy."  Once  rid  of  his  guard  he  tried  in  vain 
to  stand  up  and  fell  back  cursing. 


WESTWAYS  119 

The  order  from  the  doctor  was  to  be  obeyed.  "  Guess  he  's 
too  shaky  to  shave  himself,"  said  Josiah.  "  I  '11  come  about 
half -past  eight." 

As  Josiah  walked  to  the  far  end  of  the  village,  he  thought  in 
his  simple  way  of  his  last  three  years.  After  much  wandering 
and  fear  of  being  traced,  he  had  been  used  at  the  stables  by 
Penhallow.  That  he  had  been  a  slave  was  suspected,  but  that 
troubled  no  one  in  Westways.  He  had  long  felt  at  ease  and 
safe.  He  lived  alone,  a  man  of  some  forty  years,  cooked  for 
himself,  and  had  in  the  county  bank  a  small  amount  of  care 
fully  saved  earnings.  He  had  his  likes  and  dislikes,  but  he  had 
the  prudently  guarded  tongue  of  servitude.  Long  before  John 
Penhallow  had  understood  better  the  tall  black  man's  position 
and  won  the  confidence  of  a  friendly  hour,  he  saw  with  his 
well-bred  courtesy  how  pleased  was  the  man  to  be  called  Mr. 
Josiah.  It  sounded  queer,  as  Pole  remarked,  to  call  a  runaway 
darkey  Mister,  but  this  in  no  way  disturbed  John.  The  friendly 
feeling  for  the  black  grew  as  they  fished  together  in  the  summer 
afternoons,  or  trapped  muskrats,  or  dug  up  hellbenders.  The 
barber  had  one  half-concealed  dislike.  The  man  he  was  now  to 
shave  he  both  feared  and  hated.  "  Could  n't  tell  you  why, 
Master  John.  It 's  like  the  way  Crocker's  wife 's  'feared  of  cats. 
They  ain't  never  hurt  her  none." 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  here  I  am,"  and  in  unusual  silence  set 
about  his  work  by  dim  candlelight.  The  patient  was  as  silent. 
"When  Josiah  had  finished,  he  said  no  word  of  his  fee,  know 
ing  it  to  be  a  hopeless  debt. 

"  Guess  you  do  look  the  better  for  a  shave,"  he  remarked,  as 
he  was  about  to  leave.  "  I  '11  send  up  Billy."  The  uneasy 
guardian  had  seized  on  the  chance  to  get  a  little  relief. 

"  No,  don't  go,"  said  Lamb.  "  I  'm  in  a  hell  of  thirst.  I 
want  you  to  get  me  some  whisky.  I  '11  pay  you  when  I  get 
work." 

Josiah  was  prudent  and  had  no  will  to  oblige  the  drunkard 


120  WESTWAYS 

nor  any  belief  in  future  repayment.  "  Could  n't  do  that  —  doc 
tor  would  n't  like  it." 

"What,  you  won't  do  it?" 

"  No,  I  can't  do  it." 

"  If  you  don't,  I  '11  tell  what  I  know  about  you." 

"  What  do  you  know  ?  "  The  long  lost  terror  returned  —  but 
what  could  he  know? 

"  Oh,  you  ran  away  —  I  know  all  about  it.  You  help  me  now 
and  I  '11  keep  quiet  —  you  'd  better." 

A  fierce  desire  rose  in  the  mind  of  Josiah  to  kill  the  rascal, 
and  then,  by  long  habit  prudent,  he  said,  "  I  '11  have  to  think 
about  it."  But  what  could  this  man  know? 

"  Best  to  think  damn  quick,  or  you  '11  have  your  old  master 
down  on  you.  I  give  you  till  to-morrow  morning  early.  Do 
you  hear  ?  It 's  just  a  nip  of  whisky  I  want." 

"  Yes,  I  hear  —  got  to  think  about  it."  He  went  out  into  the 
night,  a  soul  in  fear.  No  one  knew  his  former  master's  name. 
Then  his  very  good  intelligence  resumed  control.  No  one  really 
knew  —  only  John  —  and  he  very  little.  He  put  it  aside,  con 
fident  in  the  young  fellow's  discretion.  Of  course,  the  town 
suspected  that  he  was  a  fugitive  slave,  but  nobody  cared  or 
seemed  to  care.  And  yet,  at  times  in  his  altogether  prosperous 
happy  years  of  freedom,  when  he  read  of  the  fugitive-slave  act, 
and  he  read  much,  he  had  disturbing  hours.  He  stood  still  a 
moment  and  crossed  the  road.  The  Episcopal  church,  which  he 
punctually  attended,  was  on  Penhallow's  land,  and  near  by  was 
the  rectory  where  Mark  lived  with  an  old  woman  cook  and  some 
help  from  Mrs.  Lamb.  The  night  was  warm,  the  windows  were 
open,  and  the  clergyman  was  seen  writing.  Josiah  at  the  win 
dow  spoke. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,  could  I  talk  to  you  ?  I  am  in  a  heap  of 
trouble." 

"  In  trouble,  Josiah  ?     Come  in,  the  front  door  is  open." 

As  he  entered  the  rector's  study,  Rivers  said,  "  Sit  down." 


WESTWAYS  121 

Something  in  the  look  of  the  man  made  him  think  of  hunted 
animals.  "  No  one  else  is  in  the  house.  What  is  it  ?  "  The 
black  poured  out  his  story. 

"  So  then,"  said  Rivers,  "  he  lied  to  you  about  the  doctor  and 
threatened  you  with  a  lie.  Why,  Josiah,  if  he  had  known  who 
was  your  master,  he  would  have  told  you,  and  whether  or  not 
you  ran  away  from  slavery  is  none  of  his  business.  Mr.  Pen- 
hallow  believes  you  did,  others  suspect  it,  but  no  one  cares. 
You  are  liked  and  you  have  the  respect  of  the  town.  There 
would  be  trouble  if  any  man  tried  to  claim  you." 

"  I  M  like  to  tell  you  all  about  it,  sir." 

"No  —  no  —  on  no  account.  Tell  no  one.  Now  go  home. 
I  will  settle  with  that  drunken  liar." 

"  Thank  you.     May  God  bless  —  and  thank  you." 

The  clergyman  sat  in  thought  a  while,  and  the  more  he  con 
sidered  the  matter  which  he  had  made  light  of  to  the  scared 
black,  the  less  he  liked  it.  He  dismissed  it  for  a  time  as  a  lie 
told  to  secure  whisky,  but  the  fear  Josiah  showed  was  some 
thing  pitiful  in  this  strong  black  giant.  He  knew  Lamb  well 
enough  to  feel  sure  that  Josiah  would  now  have  in  him  an  enemy 
who  was  sure  in  some  way  to  get  what  he  called  "  even  "  with  the 
barber,  and  was  a  man  known  and.  spoken  of  in  Westways  as 
"  real  spiteful." 

When  next  day  Rivers  entered  the  room  where  Lamb  lay  abed, 
he  saw  at  once  that  he  was  better.  He  meant  to  make  plain  to 
a  revengeful  man  that  Josiah  had  friends  and  that  the  attempt 
to  blackmail  him  would  be  dangerous.  Lamb  was  sitting  up  in 
bed  apparently  relieved,  and  was  reading  a  newspaper.  The 
moment  he  spoke  Rivers  knew  that  he  was  a  far  more  intelli 
gent  person  than  the  man  of  yesterday. 

Lamb  said,  "Billy,  set  a  chair  for  Mr.  Rivers.  The  heat's 
awful  for  October."  Billy  obeyed  and  stepped  out  glad  to 
escape. 

Rivers  said,  "  No,  I  won't  sit  down.     I  have  something  to 


122  WESTWAYS 

say  to  you,  and  I  advise  you  to  listen.  You  lied  to  Billy  about 
the  doctor  yesterday,  and  you  tried  to  frighten  Josiah  into  get 
ting  you  whisky  —  you  lied  to  him." 

Josiah  had  not  returned,  and  now  it  was  plain  that  he  had 
told  the  clergyman  of  the  threat.  Lamb  was  quick  to  under 
stand  the  situation,  and  the  cleverness  of  his  defence  interested 
and  for  a  moment  half  deceived  the  rector. 

"Who  says  I  lied?  Maybe  I  did.  I  don't  remember.  It's 
just  like  a  dream  —  I  don't  feel  nowise  accountable.  If  —  I  — 
abused  Josiah,  I  'm  sorry.  He  did  shave  me.  Let  me  think  — 
what  was  it  scared  Josiah  ?  "  He  had  the  slight  frown  of  a  man 
pursuing  a  lost  memory. 

"  It  is  hardly  worth  while,  Peter,  to  go  into  the  matter  if  you 
don't  recall  what  you  said."  He  realized  that  the  defence  was 
perfect.  Its  too  ready  arguments  added  to  his  disbelief  in  its 
truth. 

Lamb  was  now  enjoying  the  game.  "  Was  Josiah  really  here, 
sir?  But,  of  course,  he  was,  for  he  shaved  me.  I  do  remem 
ber  that.  Won't  you  sit  down,  sir  ?  " 

"  No,  I  must  go.     I  am  pleased  to  find  you  so  much  better." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  I  don't  want  whisky  now.  I  '11  be  fit  for 
work  in  a  week  or  so.  I  wonder  what  I  did  say  to  Josiah?  " 

This  was  a  little  too  much  for  Eivers's  patience.  "What 
ever  you  said  had  better  never  be  said  again  or  you  will  find 
yourself  in  very  serious  trouble  with  Mr.  Penhallow." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Eivers,  I  know  I  drink,  and  then  I  'm  not  re 
sponsible,  but  how  could  I  say  to  that  poor  old  darkey  what  I 
don't  mind  I  said  yesterday  ?  " 

61  Well,  you  may  chance  to  remember,"  said  Eivers ;  "  at  least 
I  have  done  my  duty  in  warning  you." 

"  I  'd  like,  sir,"  returned  Lamb,  leaning  forward  with  his 
head  bent  and  uplift  of  lids  over  watchful  eyes  — "  Oh,  I  want 
you  to  know  how  much  I  thank  you,  sir,  for  all  your  kind- 


WESTWAYS  123 

"  You  may  credit  the  Squire  for  that.  Good-bye,"  and  he  went 
out. 

Neither  man  had  been  in  the  least  deceived,  but  the  honours 
of  the  game  were  with  the  big  man  in  the  bed,  which  creaked 
under  his  weight  as  he  fell  back  grinning  in  pleased  self-ap 
proval.  "Damn  that  black  cuss,"  he  muttered,  "and  the 
preacher  too.  I  '11  make  them  sorry." 

At  the  outer  doorstep  Mark  Rivers  stood  still  and  wiped  the 
sweat  from  his  forehead.  There  must  be  minutes  in  the  life  of 
the  most  spirtually  minded  clergyman  when  to  bow  a  little  in 
the  Rimmon  House  of  the  gods  of  profane  language  would  be  a 
relief.  He  may  have  had  the  thought,  for  he  smiled  self -amused 
and  remembered  his  friend  Grace.  Then  he  took  himself  to 
task,  reflecting  that  he  should  have  been  more  gently  kind,  and 
was  there  not  some  better  mode  of  approaching  this  man  ?  Was 
he  not  a  spirit  in  prison,  as  St.  Peter  said  ?  What  right  had  he 
with  his  beliefs  to  despair  of  any  human  soul?  Then  he  dis 
missed  the  matter  and  went  home  to  his  uncompleted  sermon. 
He  would  have  to  tell  the  Squire;  yes,  that  would  be  advis 
able. 

The  days  at  Grey  Pine  ran  on  in  the  routine  of  lessons,  rid 
ing,  and  the  pleasure  for  John  of  representing  his  uncle  in  the 
oversight  of  the  young  thoroughbred  colts  and  the  stables.  Brief 
talks  with  Rivers  of  books  and  politics  filled  the  after-dinner 
hour,  and  when  he  left  John  fell  with  eagerness  on  the  news 
papers  of  the  day.  His  uncle's  mail  he  forwarded  to  Pittsburgh, 
and  heard  from  him  that  he  would  not  return  until  mid-Oc 
tober.  His  aunt  would  be  at  home  about  the  8th,  and  Leila 
was  now  at  her  school.  The  boy  felt  the  unaccustomed  loneli 
ness,  and  most  of  all  the  absence  of  Leila.  One  letter  for  his 
aunt  lay  on  the  hall  table.  It  came  too  late  to  be  sent  on  its 
way,  nor  had  she  asked  to  have  letters  forwarded. 

Two  days  before  her  return  was  to  be  expected,  when  John 
came  down  dressed  for  dinner,  he  found  Mr.  Rivers  standing 


124  WESTWAYS 

with  his  back  to  a  fire,  which  the  evening  coolness  of  October 
in  the  hills  made  desirable.  The  rector  was  smiling. 

"Mr.  George  Grey  came  just  after  you  went  upstairs.  It 
seems  that  he  wrote  to  your  aunt  the  letter  on  the  table  in  the 
hall.  As  no  one  met  him  at  Westways  Crossing,  he  was  caught 
in  a  shower  and  pretty  well  soaked  before  he  got  some  one  to 
bring  him  to  Grey  Pine.  I  think  he  feels  rather  neglected." 

"  Has  he  never  been  here  before  ?  "  asked  John,  curious  in  re 
gard  to  the  guest  who  he  thought,  from  hearing  his  aunt  speak 
of  him,  must  be  a  person  of  importance. 

"No,  not  for  a  long  while.  He  is  only  a  second  cousin  of 
Mrs.  Penhallow ;  but  as  all  Greys  are  for  her  —  well,  the  Greys 
—  we  must  do  our  best  to  make  it  pleasant  for  him  until  your 
aunt  and  uncle  return/' 

"Of  course,"  said  John,  with  some  faint  feeling  that  it  was 
needless  to  remind  him,  his  uncle's  representative,  of  his  duties 
as  the  host.  Elvers  said,  smiling,  "  It  may  not  be  easy  to  amuse 
Mr.  Grey.  I  did  not  tell  you  that  your  aunt  wrote  me,  she  will 
not  be  here  until  the  afternoon  train  on  the  9th.  Ah !  here  is 
Mr.  Grey." 

John  was  aware  of  a  neatly  built,  slight  man  in  middle  life, 
clad  in  a  suit  of  dark  grey.  He  came  down  the  stairs  in  a 
leisurely  way.  "  Not  much  of  a  Grey !  "  thought  Eivers,  as  he 
observed  the  clean-shaven  face,  which  was  sallow,  or  what  the 
English  once  described  as  olivaster,  the  eyes  small  and  dark,  the 
hair  black  and  so  long  as  to  darkly  frame  the  thin-featured, 
clean-shaven  refinement  of  a  pleasant  and  now  smiling  face. 

John  went  across  the  hall  to  receive  him,  saying,  "  I  am  John 
Penhallow,  sir.  I  am  sorry  we  did  not  know  you  were  to  be  here 
to-day." 

"  It  is  all  right  —  all  right.  Rather  chilly  ride.  Less  mois 
ture  outside  and  more  inside  would  have  been  agreeable ;  in  fact, 
would  be  at  present,  if  I  may  take  the  liberty." 

Seeing  that  the  host  did  not  understand  him,  Eivers  said 


WESTWAYS  125 

promptly,  "  I  think,  John,  Mr.  Grey  is  pleasantly  reminding  us 
that  we  should  offer  him  some  of  your  uncle's  rye." 

"Of  course,"  said  John,  who  had  not  had  the  dimmest  idea 
what  the  Maryland  gentleman  meant. 

Mr.  Grey  took  the  whisky  slowly,  remarking  that  he  knew 
the  brand,  "  Peach-flavoured,  sir.  Very  good,  does  credit  to 
Penhallow's  taste.  As  Mr.  Clay  once  remarked,  the  mellowing 
years,  sir,  have  refined  it." 

"  Dinner  is  ready,"  said  John. 

There  was  no  necessity  to  entertain  Mr.  Grey.  He  talked  at 
length,  what  James  Penhallow  later  described  as  "grown-up 
prattle."  Horses,  the  crops,  and  at  length  the  proper  methods 
of  fining  wine  —  a  word  of  encouragement  from  Eivers  set  him 
off  again.  Meanwhile  the  dinner  grew  cold  on  his  plate.  At 
last,  abruptly  conscious  of  the  lingering  meal,  Mr.  Grey  said, 
"  This  comes,  sir,  of  being  in  too  interesting  society." 

Was  this  mere  quaint  humour,  thought  Eivers;  but  when 
Grey  added,  "  I  should  have  said,  sir,  too  interested  company," 
he  began  to  wonder  at  the  self -absorption  of  what  was  evidently 
a  provincial  gentleman.  At  last,  with  "Your  very  good 
health ! "  he  took  freely  of  the  captain's  Madeira. 

Rivers,  who  sipped  a  single  glass  slowly,  was  about  to  rise 
when  to  his  amusement,  using  his  uncle's  phrase,  John  said, 
"  My  uncle  thinks  that  Madeira  and  tobacco  do  not  go  well  to 
gether  ;  you  may  like  to  smoke  in  the  library." 

Grey  remarked,  "  Quite  right,  as  Henry  Clay  once  said,  '  There 
is  nothing  as  melancholy  as  the  old  age  of  a  dinner;  who,  sir, 
shall  pronounce  its  epitaph  ? '  That,  sir,  I  call  eloquence.  No 
more  wine,  thank  you."  As  he  spoke,  he  drew  a  large  Cabana 
from  his  waistcoat  pocket  and  lighted  it  from  one  of  the  candles 
on  the  table. 

Eivers  remarked,  "We  will  find  it  warmer  in  the  library." 

When  the  two  men  settled  down  to  pipe  or  cigar  at  the  library 
fire,  John,  who  had  felt  the  role  of  host  rather  difficult,  was 


126  WESTWAYS 

eager  to  get  a  look  at  the  Tribune  which  lay  invitingly  on  the 
table,  and  presently  caught  the  eye  of  Mr.  Grey. 

"  I  see  you  have  the  Tribune"  he  said.  "  A  mischief-mak 
ing  paper  —  devilish.  I  presume  Penhallow  takes  it  to  see  what 
the  other  side  has  to  say.  Very  wise,  sir,  that/' 

Rivers,  unwilling  to  announce  his  friend's  political  opinions, 
said,  smiling,  "  I  must  leave  Mr.  Penhallow  to  account  for  that 
wicked  journal." 

Grey  sat  up  with  something  like  the  alert  look  of  a  suddenly 
awakened  terrier  on  his  thin  face.  "I  presume  the  captain 
(he  spoke  of  him  usually  as  the  captain)  must  be  able  to  con 
trol  a  good  many  votes  in  the  village  and  at  the  iron-works." 

"  I  rather  fancy,"  said  Rivers,  "  that  he  has  taken  no  active 
part  in  the  coming  election." 

"  Unnecessary,  perhaps.  It  is,  I  suppose,  like  my  own  county. 
We  have  n't  a  dozen  free-soil  voters.  '  Bleeding  Kansas '  is  a 
dead  issue  with  us.  It  is  hied  to  death,  politically  dead,  sir, 
and  buried." 

"  Not  here,"  said  John  imprudently.  "  Uncle  James  says 
Buchanan  will  carry  the  State  by  a  small  majority,  but  he  may 
not  carry  this  county." 

"Then  he  should  see  to  it,"  said  Grey.  "Elect  Fremont, 
my  boy,  and  the  Union  will  go  to  pieces.  Does  the  North  sup 
pose  we  will  endure  a  sectional  President?  No,  sir,  it  would 
mean  secession  —  the  death-knell  of  the  Union.  Sir,  we  may 
be  driven  to  more  practical  arguments  by  the  scurrilous  speeches 
of  the  abolitionists.  It  is  an  attack  on  property,  on  the  owner 
ship  of  the  inferior  race  by  the  supremely  superior.  That  is 
the  vital  question." 

He  spoke  with  excitement  and  gesticulated  as  if  at  a  political 
meeting.  Mark  Rivers,  annoyed,  felt  a  strong  inclination  to  box 
John's  ears.  He  took  advantage  of  the  pause  to  say,  "  Would 
you  like  a  little  more  rye,  Mr.  Grey?" 


WESTWAYS  127 

"  Why,  yes,  sir.  I  confess  to  being  a  trifle  dry.  But  to  re 
sume  our  discussion — " 

"  Pardon  me.     John,  ask  for  the  whisky." 

To  John  this  was  interesting  and  astonishing.  He  had  never 
heard  talk  as  wild.  The  annoyance  on  Rivers's  face  was  such 
as  to  be  easily  read  by  the  least  observant.  Elsewhere  Mr.  Elvers 
would  have  had  a  ready  answer,  but  as  Grey  sat  still  a  little 
while  enjoying  his  own  eloquence,  the  fire  and  the  whisky, 
Rivers's  slight  negative  hint  informed  John  that  he  was  to  hold 
his  tongue. 

As  the  clergyman  turned  to  speak  to  Grey,  the  latter  said,  "  I 
wish  to  add  a  word  more,  sir.  You  will  find  that  the  men  at 
the  South  cling  to  State  rights;  if  these  do  not  preserve  for 
me  and  others  my  property  and  the  right,  sir,  to  take  my  body- 
servant  to  Boston  or  Kansas,  sure  that  he  will  be  as  secure  as  my 
—  my  —  shirt-studs,  State  rights  are  of  no  practical  use." 

"  You  make  it  very  plain/'  said  Rivers,  feeling  at  last  that 
he  must  defend  his  own  opinions.  "  I  have  myself  a  few  words 
to  say  — but,  is  that  all?" 

"  Not  quite  —  not  quite.  I  am  of  the  belief  that  the  wants 
of  the  Southern  States  should  be  considered,  and  the  demand 
for  their  only  possible  labour  considered.  I  would  re-open  the 
slave-trade.  I  may  shock  you,  reverend  sir,  but  that  is  my 
opinion." 

"  And,  as  I  observe,"  said  Rivers,  "  that  also  of  some  gover 
nors  of  States."  He  disliked  being  addressed  as  "  reverend,"  and 
knew  how  Penhallow  would  smile  when  captained. 

There  was  a  brief  silence,  what  Rivers  used  to  call  the  punctua 
tion  value  of  the  pipe.  The  Maryland  gentleman  was  honestly 
clear  in  the  statement  of  his  political  creed,  and  Rivers  felt 
some  need  to  be  amiable  and  watchful  of  his  own  words  in  what 
he  was  longing  to  say.  John  listened,  amazed.  He  had  had 
his  lesson  in  our  history  from  two  competent  masters  and  was 


128  WESTWAYS 

now  intensely  interested  as  he  listened  to  the  ultimate  creed  of 
the  owner  of  men. 

Grey  had  at  last  given  up  the  cigar  he  had  lighted  over  and 
over  and  let  go  out  as  often.  He  set  down  his  empty  glass,  and 
said  with  perfect  courtesy,  "  I  may  have  been  excessive  in  state 
ment.  I  beg  pardon  for  having  spoken  of,  or  rather  hinted  at, 
the  need  for  a  resort  to  arms.  That  is  never  a  pleasant  hint 
among  gentlemen.  I  should  like  to  hear  how  this  awful  prob 
lem  presents  itself  to  you,  a  clergyman  of,  sir,  I  am  glad  to 
know,  my  own  church." 

"  Yes,  that  is  always  pleasant  to  hear,"  said  Eivers.  "  There 
at  least  we  are  on  common  ground.  I  dislike  these  discussions, 
Mr.  Grey,  but  I  cannot  leave  you  without  a  reply,  although  in 
this  house  (and  he  meant  the  hint  to  have  its  future  useful 
ness)  politics  are  rarely  discussed." 

"  Indeed !  "  exclaimed  Grey.  "  At  home  we  talk  little  else.  I 
do  believe  the  watermelons  and  the  pumpkins  talk  politics." 

Rivers  smiled.  "  I  shall  reply  to  you,  of  course.  It  will  not 
be  a  full  answer.  I  want  to  say  that  this  present  trouble  is 
not  a  quarrel  born  within  the  memory  of  any  living  man.  The 
colonial  life  began  with  colonial  differences  and  aversions  due  to 
religion  —  Puritan,  Quaker  and  Church  of  England,  interco 
lonial  tariffs  and  what  not.  For  the  planter-class  we  were  mere 
traders;  they  for  us  were  men  too  lightly  presumed  to  live  an 
idle  life  of  gambling,  sport  and  hard  drinking  —  a  life  foreign 
to  ours.  The  colonies  were  to  one  another  like  foreign  coun 
tries.  In  the  Revolution  you  may  read  clearly  the  effect  of 
these  opinions,  when  Washington  expressed  the  wish  that  his  of 
ficers  would  forget  that  they  came  from  Connecticut  or  Vir 
ginia,  and  remember  only  they  were  Americans." 

Grey  said,  "We  did  our  share,  sir." 

"  Yes,  but  all  Washington's  important  generals  were  Northern 
men;  but  that  is  not  to  the  point.  Washington  put  down  the 
whisky-tax  revolt  with  small  regard  for  State  rights.  The  Con- 


WESTWAYS  129 

stitution  unhappily  left  those  State  rights  in  a  condition  to  keep 
up  old  differences.  That  is  clear,  I  regret  to  say.  Then  came 
the  tariff  and  a  new  seed  of  dissension.  Slavery  and  its  grow 
ing  claims  added  later  mischief,  but  it  was  not  the  only  cause 
of  our  troubles,  nor  is  it  to-day  with  us,  although  it  is  with 
you,  the  largest.  We  have  tried  compromises.  They  are  of  the 
history  of  our  own  time,  familiar  to  all  of  us.  Well,  Mr.  Grey, 
the  question  is  shall  we  submit  to  the  threat  of  division,  a 
broken  land  and  its  consequences?  —  one  moment  and  I  have 
done.  I  am  filled  with  gloom  when  I  look  forward.  When  na 
tions  differ,  treaties  or  time,  or  what  not,  may  settle  disputes; 
too  often  war.  But,  Mr.  Grey,  never  are  radical,  civil  or  re 
ligious  differences  settled  without  the  sword,  if  I  have  read  his 
tory  aright.  "  You  see,"  and  he  smiled,  "  I  could  not  let  pass 
your  hint  without  a  word." 

"  If  it  comes  to  that  —  to  war,"  said  Grey,  "  we  would  win. 
In  that  belief  lies  the  certainty  I  dread." 

"Ah!  sir,  in  that  Southern  belief  lies  the  certainty  I  too 
dread.  You  think  we  live  merely  lives  of  commerce.  You  do 
not  realise  that  there  is  with  us  a  profound  sentiment  of  affec 
tion  for  the  Union.  No  people  worth  anything  ever  lived  with 
out  the  very  human  desire  of  national  self-preservation.  It  has 
the  force  of  a  man's  personal  desire  for  self-preservation.  Par 
don  me,  I  suppose  that  I  have  the  habit  of  the  sermon." 

Grey  replied,  "You  are  very  interesting,  but  I  am  tired.  A 
little  more  rye,  John.  I  must  adjourn  this  discussion  —  we  will 
talk  again." 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it,"  laughed  Eivers.  "  I  ought  to  say  that 
I  shall  vote  the  Eepublican  ticket." 

"  I  regret  it  —  I  deeply  regret  it.  Oh !  thanks,  John."  He 
drank  the  whisky  and  went  upstairs  to  bed. 

Eivers  sat  down.  "  This  man  is  what  I  call  a  stateriot.  I 
am  or  try  to  be  that  larger  thing,  a  patriot.  I  did  not  say  all,  it 
was  useless.  Your  uncle  cares  little  —  oh,  too  little  —  about 


130  WESTWAYS 

slavery,  and  generally  the  North  cares  as  little;  but  the  anti- 
slavery  men  are  active  and  say,  as  did  Washington,  that  the 
Union  of  the  States  was  or  will  be  insecure  until  slavery  comes 
to  an  end.  It  may  be  so,  John;  it  is  the  constant  seed  of  dis 
cord.  I  would  say,  let  them  go  in  peace,  but  that  would  be 
only  to  postpone  war  to  a  future  day.  I  rarely  talk  about  this 
matter.  What  made  you  start  him?  You  ought  to  have  held 
your  tongue." 

The  young  fellow  smiled.     "Yes,  sir,  I  suppose  so." 
"  However,  we  won't  have  it  again  if  I  can  help  it." 
"  It  was  very  interesting." 

"  Quite  too  interesting,  but  will  he  try  it  on  the  Squire  and 
your  aunt?  Now  I  am  going  home.  I  hate  these  talks. 
Don't  sit  up  and  read  the  Tribune/' 

"  No,  sir,  and  I  will  take  Mr.  Grey  to  ride  to-morrow." 

"  Do,  and  send  him  home  too  tired  to  talk  politics." 

"  I  think  if  I  put  him  on  uncle's  big  John  it  will  answer." 


CHAPTER  IX 

WHILE  the  two  maids  from  Westways  waited  on  the 
family  at  breakfast,  the  guest  was  pleased  to  express  him 
self  favourably  in  regard  to  the  coffee  and  the  corn  bread.  John 
being  left  alone  in  care  of  the  guest  after  the  meal  proposed  a 
visit  to  the  stables.  Mr.  Grey  preferred  for  a  time  the  fire,  and 
later  would  like  to  walk  to  the  village.  Somewhat  relieved, 
John  found  for  him  the  Baltimore  paper,  which  Mrs.  Penhal- 
low  read  daily.  Mr.  Grey  would  not  smoke,  but  before  John 
went  away  remarked,  "  I  perceive,  my  boy,  no  spittoon."  He 
was  chewing  tobacco  vigorously  and  using  the  fireplace  for  his 
frequent  expectoration.  John,  a  little  embarrassed,  thought  of 
his  Aunt  Ann.  The  habit  of  chewing  was  strange  to  the  boy's 
home  experience.  Certainly,  Billy  chewed,  and  others  in  the 
town,  nor  was  it  at  that  time  uncommon  at  the  North.  He  con 
fided  his  difficulty  to  the  groom,  his  boxing-master,  who  hav 
ing  in  his  room  the  needed  utensil  placed  it  beside  the  hall- 
fire,  to  Mr.  Grey's  satisfaction  —  a  square  tray  of  wood  filled 
with  sawdust. 

"  Not  ornamental,  but  useful,  John,  in  fact  essential,"  said 
Mr.  Grey,  as  John  excused  himself  with  the  statement  that  he 
had  to  go  to  school.  When  he  returned  through  the  woods, 
about  noon,  to  his  relief  he  saw  far  down  the  avenue  Mr.  Grey 
and  the  gold-headed,  tasselled  cane  he  carried. 

A  little  later  Mr.  Grey  in  the  sun  of  a  cool  day  early  in 
October  was  walking  along  the  village  street  in  keen  search  of 
news  of  politics.  He  talked  first  to  Pole,  the  butcher,  who 
hearing  that  he  was  a  cousin  of  Mrs.  Penhallow  assured  him 
that  the  town  would  go  solid  for  Buchanan.  Then  he  met 

131 


132  WESTWAYS 

Billy,  who  was  going  a-fishing,  having  refused  a  wood-cutting 
job  the  rector  offered. 

"  A  nice  fishing-rod  that,"  said  Grey. 

Billy  who  was  bird-witted  and  short  of  memory  replied,  "  Mrs. 
Penhallow  she  gave  me  a  dollar  to  pay  pole-tax  if  I  vote  for  — 
I  guess  it  was  Buchanan.  I  bought  a  nice  fishing-pole." 

Grey  was  much  amused  and  agreeably  instructed  in  regard 
to  Mrs.  Ann's  sentiments,  as  he  realized  the  simple  fellow's 
mental  condition.  "  A  fishing-pole-tax  —  well  —  well  — "  and 
would  tell  John  of  his  joke.  "  Any  barber  in  this  town  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Yes,  there 's  Josiah,"  and  Billy  was  no  longer  to  be  de 
tained. 

Mr.  Grey  mailed  a  letter,  but  the  post-mistress  would  not  talk 
politics  and  was  busy.  At  last,  wandering  eastward,  he  came 
upon  the  only  unoccupied  person  in  Westways.  Peter  Lamb, 
slowly  recovering  strength,  was  seated  on  his  mother's  door 
step.  His  search  for  money  had  been  defeated  by  the  widow's 
caution,  and  the  whisky  craving  was  being  felt  anew. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  Grey.  "  You  seem  to  be  the  only 
man  here  with  nothing  to  do." 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  've  been  sick,  and  am  not  quite  fit  to  work. 
Sickness  is  hard  on  a  working  man,  sir." 

Grey,  a  kindly  person,  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  "  Quite 
right,  it  is  hard.  How  are  the  people  here  going  to  vote?  I 
hope  the  good  old  ticket." 

"  Oh !  Buchanan  and  Breckenridge,  sir,  except  one  or  two 
and  the  darkey  barber.  He's  a  runaway  —  I  guess.  Been 
here  these  three  or  four  years.  Squire  likes  him  because  he  's 
clever  about  breaking  colts." 

"Indeed!" 

"  He 's  a  lazy  nigger,  sir ;  ought  to  be  sent  back  where  he  be 
longs." 

"  What  is  his  name  ?     I  suppose  he  can  shave  me." 


WESTWAYS  133 

"Calls  himself  Josiah,"  said  Peter.  "Mighty  poor  barber 
—  cut  my  face  last  time  he  shaved  me.  You  see,  he 's  lost  two 
fingers  —  makes  him  awkwarder." 

"  What !  what !  "  said  Grey,  of  a  sudden  reflecting,  "  two  fin 
gers  — " 

"  Know  him  ?  "  said  Lamb  quickly. 

"I  —  no —  Do  you  suppose  I  know  every  runaway  nig- 
ger?" 

"  Oh,  of  course  not.     Might  I  ask  your  name,  sir  ?  " 

"I  am  a  cousin  of  Mrs.  Penhallow.  My  name  is  Grey." 
Peter  became  cautious  and  silent.  "  Here  is  a  little  help,  my 
man,  until  you  get  work.  Stick  to  the  good  old  Party."  He 
left  two  dollars  in  Lamb's  eager  hands. 

Surprised  at  this  unusual  bounty,  Peter  said,  "  Thank  you, 
sir.  God  bless  you.  It  '11  be  a  great  help."  It  meant  for  the 
hapless  drinker  whisky,  and  he  was  quick  to  note  the  way  in 
which  Grey  became  interested  in  the  man  who  had  lost  fingers. 

Grey  lingered.  "I  must  risk  your  barber's  awkwardness," 
he  said. 

"  Oh,  he  can  shave  pretty  well  when  he  's  sober.  He  's  our 
only  darkey,  sir.  You  can't  miss  him.  I  might  show  you  his 
shop."  This  Grey  declined. 

"I  suppose,  sir,"  said  Peter,  curious,  "all  darkies  look  so 
much  alike  that  it  is  hard  to  tell  them  apart." 

"  Oh,  not  for  us  —  not  for  us." 

Then  Peter  was  still  more  sure  that  the  gentleman  with  the 
gold-headed  cane  was  from  the  South.  As  Grey  lingered 
thoughtful,  Lamb  was  maliciously  inspired  by  the  size  of  Grey's 
donation  and  the  prospect  it  offered.  He  studied  the  face  of 
the  Southern  gentleman  and  ventured  to  say,  "  Excuse  me,  sir, 
but  if  you  want  to  get  that  man  back — " 

"I  want  him!  Good  gracious!  I  did  not  own  him.  My 
inquiries  were,  I  might  say,  casual,  purely  casual." 

Lamb,  thanks  to  the  Penhallows,  had  had  some  education  at 


134  WESTWAYS 

the  school  for  the  mill  children,  but  what  was  meant  by  "  purely 
casual"  he  did  not  know.  If  it  implied  lack  of  interest,  that 
was  not  the  case,  or  why  the  questions  and  this  gift,  large  for 
Westways.  But  if  the  gentleman  did  not  own  Josiah's  years  of 
lost  labour,  some  one  else  did,  and  who  was  it? 

As  Grey  turned  away,  he  said,  "  I  may  see  you  again.  I  am 
with  my  cousin  at  Grey  Pine.  By  the  bye,  how  will  the  county 
vote?'' 

Peter  assured  him  that  the  Democratic  Party  would  carry  the 
county.  "I  am  glad,"  said  Grey,  "that  the  people,  the  real 
backbone  of  the  country,  desire  to  do  justice  to  the  South."  He 
felt  himself  on  the  way  to  another  exposition  of  constitutional 
rights,  but  realising  that  it  was  unwise  checked  the  outflow  of 
eloquence.  He  could  not,  however,  refrain  from  adding,  "  Your 
people  then  are  a  law-abiding  community." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  lover  of  law,  "  we  are  just  that,  and  good 
sound  Democrats." 

Grey,  curious  and  mildly  interested,  determined  to  be  reas 
sured  in  regard  to  this  black  barber's  former  status.  He 
walked  slowly  by  Josiah's  shop  followed  at  a  distance  by  Peter. 
The  barber  was  shaving  Mr.  Pole,  and  intent  on  his  task. 
Grey  caught  sight  of  the  black's  face.  One  look  was  enough  — 
it  was  familiar  —  unmistakable.  In  place  of  going  in  to  be 
shaved  he  turned  away  and  quickened  his  steps.  Peter  grinned 
and  went  home.  "  The  darn  nigger  horse-thief,"  murmured 
Grey.  "  I  '11  write  to  Woodburn."  Then  he  concluded  that 
first  it  would  be  well  without  committing  himself  to  know  more 
surely  how  far  this  Democratic  community  would  go  in  support 
of  the  fugitive-slave  law.  He  applauded  his  cautiousness. 

A  moment  later  Pole,  well  shaven,  overtook  him.  Grey 
stopped  him,  chatted  as  they  went  on,  and  at  last  asked  if  there 
was  in  Westways  a  good  Democratic  lawyer.  Pole  was  confi 
dent  that  Mr.  Swallow  would  be  all  that  he  could  desire,  and 
pointed  out  his  house. 


WESTWAYS  135 

Meanwhile  Peter  Lamb  began  to  suspect  that  there  was  mis 
chief  brewing  for  the  man  who  had  brought  down  on  him  the 
anger  of  Mark  Bivers,  and  like  enough  worse  things  as  soon  as 
Penhallow  came  home. 

As  Pole  turned  into  his  shop-door,  Mr.  Grey  went  westward 
in  deep  thought.  He  was  sure  of  the  barber's  identity.  If 
Josiah  had  been  his  own  property,  he  would  with  no  hesitation 
have  taken  the  steps  needful  to  reclaim  the  fugitive,  but  it  was 
Mr.  Woodburn  who  had  lost  Josiah's  years  of  service  and  it  was 
desirable  not  hastily  to  commit  his  friend.  He  knew  with  what 
trouble  the  fugitive-slave  law  had  been  obeyed  or  not  obeyed  at 
the  North.  He  was  not  aware  that  men  who  cared  little  about 
slavery  were  indignant  at  a  law  which  set  aside  every  safeguard 
with  which  the  growth  of  civilization  had  surrounded  the  trial 
of  even  the  worst  criminal.  As  he  considered  the  situation,  he 
walked  more  and  more  slowly  until  he  paused  in  front  of  Swal 
low's  house.  Every  one  had  assured  him  that  since  General 
Jackson's  time  the  town  and  county  had  changelessly  voted  the 
good  old  Democratic  ticket.  Here  at  least  the  rights  of  property 
would  be  respected,  and  there  would  be  no  lawless  city  mobs  to 
make  the  restoration  of  a  slave  difficult.  The  brick  house  and 
ill-kept  garden  before  which  he  paused  looked  unattractive. 
Beside  the  house  a  one-storey  wooden  office  bore  the  name 
"  Henry  W.  Swallow,  Attorney-at-law."  There  was  neither  bell 
nor  knocker.  Mr.  Grey  rapped  on  the  office  door  with  his  cane, 
and  after  waiting  a  moment  without  hearing  any  one,  he  en 
tered  a  front  room  and  looked  about  him. 

Swallow  was  a  personage  whose  like  was  found  too  often  in  the 
small  Pennsylvania  villages.  The  only  child  of  a  close-fisted, 
saving  farmer,  he  found  himself  on  his  father's  death  more  than 
sufficiently  well-off  to  go  to  college  and  later  to  study  law.  He 
was  careful  and  penurious,  but  failing  of  success  in  Philadel 
phia  returned  to  Westways  when  about  thirty  years  old,  bought 
a  piece  of  land  in  the  town,  built  a  house,  married  a  pretty, 


136  WESTWAYS 

commonplace  young  woman,  and  began  to  look  for  business. 
There  was  little  to  be  had.  The  Squire  drew  his  own  leases  and 
sold  lands  to  farmers  unaided.  Then  Swallow  began  to  take  in 
terest  in  politics  and  to  lend  money  to  the  small  farmers,  tak 
ing  mortgages  at  carefully  guarded,  usurious  interest.  Merci 
less  foreclosures  resulted,  and  as  by  degrees  his  operations  en 
larged,  he  grew  richer  and  became  feared  and  important  in  a 
county  community  where  money  was  scarce.  Some  of  his  vic 
tims  went  in  despair  to  the  much  loved  Squire  for  help,  and  got, 
over  and  over,  relief,  which  disappointed  Swallow  who  disliked 
him  as  he  did  no  other  man  in  the  county.  The  Squire  re 
turned  his  enmity  with  contemptuous  bitterness  and  entire  dis 
trust  of  the  man  and  all  his  ways. 

Mr.  Grey  saw  in  the  further  room  the  back  of  a  thin  figure 
in  a  white  jacket  seated  at  a  desk.  The  man  thus  occupied  on 
hearing  his  entrance  said,  without  looking  back,  "  Sit  down,  and 
in  a  moment  I  '11  attend  to  you." 

Grey  replied,  "  In  a  moment  you  won't  see  me ; "  and,  his 
voice  rising,  "  I  am  accustomed  to  be  treated  with  civil 
ity." 

Swallow  rose  at  once,  and  seeing  a  well-dressed  stranger  said, 
"  Excuse  me,  I  was  drawing  a  mortgage  for  a  farmer  I  ex 
pected.  Take  a  seat.  I  am  at  your  service." 

Somewhat  mollified,  Grey  sat  down.  As  he  took  his  seat  he 
was  not  at  all  sure  of  what  he  was  really  willing  to  say  or 
do.  He  was  not  an  indecisive  person  at  home,  but  here  in  a 
Northern  State,  on  what  might  be  hostile  ground,  he  was  in 
doubt  concerning  that  which  he  felt  he  honourably  owed  as  a 
duty  to  his  neighbour.  The  word  had  for  him  limiting  defini 
tions,  as  indeed  it  has  for  most  of  us.  Eesolving  to  be  cautious, 
he  said  with  deliberate  emphasis,  "  I  should  like  what  I  have  to 
say  to  be  considered,  sir,  as  George  Washington  used  to  remark, 
as  (  under  the  rose  ' —  a  strictly  professional  confidence." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Swallow. 


WESTWAYS  137 

"  My  name  is  George  Grey.  I  am  at  Grey  Pine  on  a  visit  to 
my  cousin,  Mrs.  Penhallow." 

"  A  most  admirable  lady,"  said  the  lawyer ;  "  absent  just  now, 
I  hear."  He  too  determined  on  caution. 

"  I  have  been  wandering  about  your  quiet  little  town  this 
morning  and  made  some  odd  acquaintances.  One  Billy,  he  called 
himself,  most  amusing  —  most  amusing.  It  seems  that  my 
cousin  gave  him  money  to  pay  his  poll-tax.  The  poor  simple 
fellow  bought  a  fishing-pole  and  line.  He  was,  I  fancy,  to  vote 
for  Buchanan.  My  cousin,  I  infer,  must  be  like  all  our  people 
a  sound  Democrat." 

"I  have  heard  as  much,"  returned  Swallow.  "I  am  doing 
what  I  can  for  the  party,  but  the  people  here  are  sadly  mis 
led  and  our  own  party  is  slowly  losing  ground." 

"  Indeed !  I  talked  a  little  with  a  poor  fellow  named  Lamb, 
out-of-work  and  sick.  He  assured  me  that  the  town  was  solid 
for  Buchanan,  and  also  the  county." 

Swallow  laughed  heartily.  "  What !  Peter  Lamb.  He  is  our 
prize  drunkard,  sir,  and  would  have  been  in  jail  long  ago  but 
for  Penhallow.  They  are  foster-brothers." 

"  Indeed ! "  Mr.  Grey  felt  that  his  knowledge  of  character 
had  been  sadly  at  fault  and  that  he  had  been  wise  in  not  hav 
ing  said  more  to  the  man  out-of-work. 

"Do  you  think,  Mr.  Swallow,  that  if  a  master  reclaimed 
a  slave  in  this  county  that  there  would  be  any  trouble  in 
carrying  out  the  law  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Swallow.  "  The  county  authorities  are  all 
Democrats  and  would  obey  the  law.  Suppose,  sir,  that  you  were 
frankly  to  put  before  me  the  whole  case,  relying  on  my  secrecy. 
Where  is  the  man  ?  " 

"Let  me  then  tell  you  my  story.  As  a  sound  Democrat 
it  will  at  least  have  your  sympathy." 

"  Certainly,  I  am  all  attention." 

"  About  the  tenth  of  June  over  four  years  ago  I  rode  with 


138  WESTWAYS 

my  friend  Woodburn  into  our  county-town.  At  the  bank  we 
left  our  horses  with  his  groom  Caesar,  an  excellent  servant,  much 
trusted;  used  to  ride  quarter  races  for  my  father  when  a  boy. 
When  we  came  out,  Woodburn's  horse  was  hitched  to  a  post 
and  mine  was  gone,  and  that  infernal  nigger  on  him.  He  was 
traced  to  the  border,  but  my  mare  had  no  match  in  the  county." 

"  So  he  stole  the  horse ;  that  makes  it  an  easy  case." 

"No,  sir.  To  be  precise,  he  left  the  horse  at  a  tavern  in 
this  State,  with  my  name  and  address.  Some  Quakers  helped 
him  on  his  way/' 

"  And  he  is  in  this  county  ?  "  asked  Swallow. 

"  Yes,  sir.  His  name  here  is  Josiah  —  seems  to  be  known 
by  that  name  alone." 

"  Josiah ! "  gasped  Swallow.  "  A  special  favourite  of  Pen- 
hallow.  A  case  to  be  gravely  considered  —  most  gravely.  The 
Squire  — " 

"  But  surely  he  will  obey  the  law." 

"Yes  —  probably  —  but  who  can  say?  He  was  at  one  time 
a  Democrat,  but  now  is,  I  hear,  likely  to  vote  for  Fremont." 

"  That  seems  incredible." 

"  And  yet  true.  I  should  like,  sir,  to  think  the  matter  over 
for  a  day  or  two.  Did  the  man  see  you  —  I  mean,  recognize 
you?" 

"  No,  but  as  I  went  by  his  shop,  I  at  once  recognized  him ; 
and  he  has  lost  two  fingers.  Oh!  I  know  the  fellow.  I  can 
swear  to  him,  and  it  is  easy  to  bring  his  master  Woodburn 
here." 

"  I  see.     Well,  let  me  think  it  over  for  a  day  or  two." 

"  Very  good,"  returned  Grey,  "  and  pray  consider  yourself 
as  in  my  debt  for  your  services." 

"  All  right,  Mr.  Grey." 

With  this  Mr.  Grey  went  away  a  thoughtful  man.  He  at 
tracted  some  attention  as  he  moved  along  the  fronts  of  the 
houses.  Strangers  were  rare.  .  Being  careful  not  to  go  near 


WESTWAYS  139 

Josiah's  little  shop,  he  crossed  the  road  and  climbing  the  fence 
went  through  the  wood,  reflecting  that  until  this  matter  was 
settled  he  would  feel  that  his  movements  must  be  unpleasantly 
governed  by  the  need  to  avoid  Josiah.  He  felt  this  to  be 
humiliating.  Other  considerations  presented  themselves  in 
turn.  This  ungrateful  black  had  run  away  with  his,  George 
Grey's,  horse  —  a  personal  wrong.  His  duty  to  "Woodburn  was 
plain.  Then,  if  this  black  fellow  was  as  Swallow  said,  a 
favourite  of  Captain  Penhallow,  to  plan  his  capture  while  him 
self  a  guest  in  Penhallow's  house  was  rather  an  awkward  busi 
ness.  However,  he  felt  that  he  must  inform  his  friend  Wood- 
burn,  after  which  he  would  turn  him  over  to  Swallow  and  not 
appear  in  the  business  at  all.  It  did  not,  however,  present  it 
self  to  the  Maryland  gentleman  as  a  nice  situation.  If  his 
cousin  Ann  were,  as  he  easily  learned,  a  strong  Democrat,  it 
might  be  well  to  sound  her  on  the  general  situation.  She  had 
lived  half  her  life  among  slaves  and  those  who  owned  them. 
She  would  know  how  far  Penhallow  was  to  be  considered  as  a 
law-abiding  citizen,  or  whether  he  might  be  offended,  for  after 
all,  as  George  Grey  knew,  his  own  share  in  the  matter  would 
be  certain  to  become  known.  "  A  damned  unpleasant  affair," 
he  said  aloud  as  he  walked  up  the  avenue,  "but  we  as  South 
ern  gentlemen  have  got  to  stand  by  one  another.  I  must  let 
Woodburn  know,  and  decide  for  himself." 

Neither  was  the  lawyer  Swallow  altogether  easy  about  the 
matter  on  which  he  had  desired  time  for  thought.  It  would 
be  the  first  case  in  the  county  under  the  fugitive-slave  act. 
If  the  man  were  reclaimed,  he,  Swallow,  would  be  heard  of 
all  through  the  State;  but  would  that  help  him  before  the 
people  in  a  canvass  for  the  House?  He  could  not  answer,  for 
the  old  political  parties  were  going  to  pieces  and  new  ones  were 
forming.  Moreover,  Josiah  was  much  liked  and  much  re 
spected.  Then,  too,  there  was  the  fee.  He  walked  about  the 
room  singularly  disturbed.  Some  prenatal  fate  had  decreed 


140  WESTWAYS 

that  he  should  be  old-aged  at  forty.  He  had  begun  to  be  aware 
that  his  legs  were  aging  faster  than  his  mind.  Except  the  pleas 
ure  of  accumulating  money,  which  brought  no  enjoyment,  he 
had  thus  far  no  games  in  life  which  interested  him;  but  now 
the  shifting  politics  of  the  time  had  tempted  him,  and  possibly 
this  case  might  be  used  to  his  advantage.  The  black  eyebrows 
under  fast  whitening  hair  grew  together  in  a  frown,  while  be 
low  slowly  gathered  the  long  smile  of  satisfaction.  "  How 
Penhallow  will  hate  it."  This  thought  was  for  him  what  the 
stolen  mare  was  for  George  Grey.  He  must  look  up  the  law. 

Meanwhile  George  Grey,  under  the  necessity  of  avoiding  the 
village  for  a  time,  was  rather  bored.  He  had  criticized  the 
stables  and  the  horses,  and  had  been  told  that  the  Squire  relied 
with  good  reason  on  the  judgment  of  Josiah  in  regard  to  the 
promise  of  good  qualities  in  colts.  Then,  used  to  easy  road 
sters,  he  had  been  put  on  the  Squire's  rough  trotter  and  led 
by  the  tireless  lad  had  come  back  weary  from  long  rides  across 
rough  country  fields  and  over  fences.  The  clergyman  would 
talk  no  more  politics,  John  pleaded  lessons,  and  it  was  on  the 
whole  dull,  so  that  Mr.  Grey  was  pleased  to  hear  of  the  early 
return  of  his  cousin.  A  letter  to  John  desired  him  to  meet 
his  aunt  on  the  8th,  and  accordingly  he  drove  to  the  station  at 
Westways  Crossing,  picking  up  Billy  on  the  way.  Mrs.  Ann 
got  out  of  the  car  followed  by  the  conductor  and  brakeman 
carrying  boxes  and  bundles,  which  Billy,  greatly  excited, 
stowed  away  under  the  seats  of  the  Jersey  wagon.  Mrs.  Pen- 
hallow  distributed  smiles  and  thanks  to  the  men  who  made 
haste  to  assist,  being  one  of  the  women  who  have  no  need  to 
ask  help  from  any  man  in  sight. 

"  Now,  Billy,"  she  said,  "  be  careful  with  those  horses. 
When  you  attend,  you  drive  very  well." 

She  settled  herself  on  the  back  seat  with  John,  delighted  to 
be  again  where  her  tireless  sense  of  duty  kept  her  busy  —  quite 
too  busy  at  times,  thought  some  of  the  village  dames.  "Your 


WESTWAYS  141 

Uncle  James  will  soon  be  at  home.  Is  his  pet  scamp  any  bet 
ter?" 

John  did  not  know,  but  Josiah's  rheumatism  was  quite  well. 

"  Sister-in-law  has  a  baby.  Six  trout  I  ketched ;  they  're  at 
the  house  for  you  —  weighs  seven  pounds,"  said  Billy  without 
turning  round. 

"  Trout  or  baby  ?  "  said  Ann,  laughing. 

"  Baby,  ma'am." 

"  Thanks,  but  don't  talk  any  more." 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  How  is  Leila?  "  asked  John.     " Does  she  like  it  at  school?  " 

"No,  not  at  all;  but  she  will." 

"  I  don't,  Aunt  Ann." 

"I  suppose  not." 

"  Am  I  to  be  allowed  to  write  to  her  ?  " 

"I  think  not.  There  is  some  rule  that  letters,  but — "  and 
she  laughed  merrily.  The  rector,  who  worshipped  her,  said 
once  that  her  laugh  was  like  the  spring  song  of  birds.  "But 
sometimes  I  may  be  naughty  enough  to  let  you  slip  a  few  lines 
into  my  letters." 

"  That  is  more  than  I  hoped  for.  I  am  —  I  was  so  glad 
to  get  you  back,  Aunt  Ann,  that  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  Mr.  George 
Grey  has  come." 

"  How  delightful !  He  has  been  promising  a  visit  for  years. 
How  pleased  James  will  be!  I  wonder  how  the  old  bachelor 
ever  made  up  his  mind.  I  hope  you  made  it  pleasant,  John." 

"  I  tried  to,  aunt."  Whether  James  Penhallow  would  like 
it  was  for  John  doubtful,  but  he  said  nothing  further. 

"The  cities  are  wild  about  politics,  and  there  is  no  end  of 
trouble  in  Philadelphia  over  the  case  of  a  fugitive  slave.  I  was 
glad  to  get  away  to  Grey  Pine." 

John  had  never  heard  her  mention  this  tender  subject  and 
was  not  surprised  when  she  added  quickly,  "  But  I  never  talk 
politics,  John,  and  you  are  too  young  to  know  anything  about 


142  WESTWAYS 

them."  This  was  by  no  means  true,  as  she  well  knew.  "  How 
are  my  chickens?"  She  asked  endless  questions  of  small 
moment. 

"  Got  a  new  fishing-rod,"  said  Billy,  but  to  John's  amuse 
ment  did  not  pursue  the  story  concerning  which  George  Grey 
had  gleefully  enlightened  him. 

"  Well,  at  last,  Cousin  George,"  she  cried,  as  the  cousin  gave 
her  his  hand  on  the  porch.  "  Glad  to  see  you  —  most  glad. 
Come  in  when  you  have  finished  your  cigar." 

She  followed  John  into  the  hall.  "  Ah !  the  dear  home." 
Then  her  eyes  fell  on  the  much  used  spittoon  by  the  fireside. 
"  Good  gracious,  John,  a  —  a  spittoon !  " 

"  Yes,  aunt.     Mr.  Grey  chews." 

"  Indeed !  "  She  looked  at  the  box  and  went  upstairs.  For 
years  to  come  and  in  the  most  incongruous  surroundings  John 
Penhallow  now  and  then  laughed  as  he  saw  again  the  look 
with  which  Mrs.  Ann  regarded  the  article  so  essential  to  Mr. 
Grey's  comfort.  She  disliked  all  forms  of  tobacco  use,  and 
the  law  of  the  pipe  had  long  ago  been  settled  at  Grey  Pine  as 
Mrs.  Penhallow  decreed,  because  that  was  always  what  James 
Penhallow  decided  to  think  desirable. 

"  But  this !  this ! "  murmured  the  little  lady,  as  she  came 
down  the  staircase  ready  for  dinner.  She  rang  for  the  maid. 
"  Take  that  thing  away  and  wash  it  well,  and  put  in  fresh 
sawdust  twice  a  day." 

"  I  hope  John  has  been  a  good  host,"  she  said,  as  Grey  en 
tered  the  hall. 

"  Could  n't  be  better,  and  I  have  had  some  delightful  rides. 
I  found  the  mills  interesting  —  in  fact,  most  instructive."  He 
spoke  in  short  childlike  sentences  unless  excited  by  politics. 

Mrs.  Ann  noted  without  surprise  the  free  use  of  whisky, 
and  later  the  appreciative  frequency  of  resort  to  Penhallow's 
Madeira.  A  glass  of  wine  at  lunch  and  after  dinner  were  her 
husband's  sole  indulgence.  The  larger  potations  of  her  cousin 


WESTWAYS  143 

in  no  way  affected  him.  He  talked  as  usual  to  Mark  Rivers  and 
John  about  horses,  crops  and  the  weather,  while  Mrs.  Ann 
listened  to  the  flow  of  disconnected  trifles  in  some  wonder  as 
to  how  James  Penhallow  would  endure  it.  Grey  for  the  time 
kept  off  the  danger  line  of  politics,  having  had  of  late  such 
variously  contributed  knowledge  as  made  him  careful. 

When  to  Mrs.  Ann's  relief  dinner  was  over,  the  rector  said 
his  sermon  for  to-morrow  must  excuse  him  and  went  home. 
John  decided  that  his  role  of  host  was  over  and  retired  to  his 
algebra  and  to  questions  more  easy  to  solve  than  of  how  to 
entertain  Mr.  George  Grey.  It  was  not  difficult,  as  Mrs.  Pen- 
hallow  saw,  to  make  Grey  feel  at  home;  all  he  required  was 
whisky,  cigars,  and  some  mild  appearance  of  interest  in  his 
talk.  She  had  long  anticipated  his  visit  with  pleasure,  think 
ing  that  James  Penhallow  would  be  pleased  and  the  better  for 
some  rational  male  society.  Eivers  had  now  deserted  her,  and 
she  really  would  not  sit  with  her  kinsman's  cigar  a  whole  even 
ing  in  the  library.  She  said,  "  The  night  is  warm  for  October, 
come  out  onto  the  porch,  George." 

"With  all  the  pleasure  in  the  world,"  said  Grey,  as  he  fol 
lowed  her. 

By  habit  and  training  hospitable  and  now  resigned  to  her 
fate,  Mrs.  Ann  said,  "  Light  your  cigar,  George ;  I  do  not  mind 
it  out-of-doors." 

"  I  am  greatly  indebted  —  I  was  given  to  understand  that 
it  was  disagreeable  to  you  —  like  —  politics  —  ah !  Cousin 
Ann." 

"  We  are  not  much  given  to  talking  politics,"  she  said  rather 
sharply. 

"  Not  talk  politics !  "  exclaimed  Grey.  "  What  else  is  there 
to  talk  about  nowadays?  But  why  not,  Cousin  Ann?" 

"  Well,  merely  because  while  I  am  Southern  —  and  a  Demo 
crat,  James  has  seen  fit  to  abandon  our  party  and  become  a 
Republican." 


144  WESTWAYS 

"  Incomprehensible ! "  said  Grey.  "  Ours  is  the  party  of 
gentlemen  —  of  old  traditions.  I  cannot  understand  it." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  she,  "  but  now  at  least,"  and  she  laughed  — 
"there  will  be  one  Eepublican  gentleman.  However,  George, 
as  we  are  both  much  in  earnest,  we  keep  politics  out  of  the 
house." 

"  It  must  be  rather  awkward,  Ann." 

"  What  must  be  rather  awkward  ?  " 

Did  he  really  mean  to  discuss,  to  criticize  her  relations  to 
James  Penhallow?  The  darkness  was  for  a  time  the  grateful 
screen. 

Grey,  a  courteous  man,  felt  the  reproof  in  her  question,  and 
replied,  "I  beg  pardon,  my  dear  Ann,  I  have  heard  of  the 
captain's  unfortunate  change  of  opinion.  I  shall  hope,  how 
ever,  to  be  able  to  convince  him  that  to  elect  Fremont  will 
be  to  break  up  the  Union.  I  think  I  could  put  it  so  clearly 
that—" 

Ann  laughed  low  laughter  as  vastly  amused  she  laid  a  hand 
on  her  cousin's  arm.  "  You  don't  know  James  Penhallow.  He 
has  been  from  his  youth  a  Democrat.  There  never  was  any 
question  about  how  he  would  vote.  But  now,  since  1850 — " 
and  she  paused,  "  in  fact,  I  do  not  care  to  discuss  with  you 
what  I  will  not  with  James."  Her  great  love,  her  birth,  train 
ing,  education  and  respect  for  the  character  of  her  husband, 
made  this  discussion  hateful.  Her  eyes  filled,  and,  much 
troubled,  she  was  glad  of  the  mask  of  night. 

"  But  answer  me  one  question,  Ann.     Why  did  he  change  ?  " 

"  He  was  becoming  dissatisfied  and  losing  faith  in  his  own 
party,  but  it  was  at  last  my  own  dear  South  and  its  friends 
at  the  North  who  drove  him  out."  Again  she  paused. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Ann  ?  "  asked  Grey,  still  persistent. 

"  It  began  long  ago,  George.  He  said  to  me  one  day,  '  That 
fool  Fillmore  has  signed  the  Fugitive- Slave  Act;  it  is  hardly 
possible  to  obey  it.'  Then  I  said,  ' Would  you  not,  James?' 


WESTWAYS  145 

I  can  never  forget  it.  He  said,  '  Yes,  I  obey  the  law,  Ann,  but 
this  should  be  labelled  t  an  act  to  exasperate  the  North/  I  am 
done  with  the  Democrat  and  all  his  ways.  Obey  the  law! 
Yes,  I  was  a  soldier/  Then  he  said,  '  Ann,  we  must  never  talk 
politics  again/  We  never  do." 

"  And  yet,  Ann/'  said  Grey,  "  that  act  was  needed/' 
"  Perhaps,"  she  returned,  and  then  followed  a  long  silence, 
as  with  thought  of  James  Penhallow  she  sat  smiling  in  the 
darkness  and  watched  the  rare  wandering  lanterns  of  the  be 
lated  fireflies. 

The  man  at  her  side  was  troubled  into  unnatural  silence. 
He  had  hoped  to  find  an  ally  in  his  cousin's  husband,  and  now 
what  should  he  do  ?  He  had  concluded  that  as  an  honest  man 
he  had  done  his  duty  when  he  had  written  to  Woodburn;  but 
now  as  a  man  of  honour  what  should  he  say  to  James  Pen- 
hallow?  To  conceal  from  his  host  what  he  had  done  was 
the  obvious  business-like  course.  This  troubled  a  man  who 
was  usually  able  to  see  his  way  straight  on  all  matters  of 
social  conduct  and  was  sensitive  on  points  of  honour.  While 
Ann  sat  still  and  wondered  that  her  guest  was  so  long  silent, 
he  was  finding  altogether  unpleasant  his  conclusion  that  he 
must  be  frank  with  Penhallow.  He  felt  sure,  however,  that 
Ann  would  naturally  be  on  his  side.  He  introduced  the  mat 
ter  lightly  with,  "I  chanced  to  see  in  the  village  a  black  man 
who  is  said  to  be  a  vagabond  scamp.  He  is  called  Josiah  — 
a  runaway  slave,  I  fancy." 

Ann  sat  up  in  her  chair.     "  Who  said  he  was  a  scamp  ?  " 
"  Oh,  a  man  named  Lamb."     Then  he  suddenly  remembered 
Mr.  Swallow's  characterization,  and  added,  "not  a  very  trust 
worthy  witness,  I  presume." 

Ann  laughed.  "  Peter  Lamb !  He  is  a  drunken,  loafing 
fellow,  who  to  his  good  fortune  chances  to  have  been  James's 
foster-brother.  As  concerns  Josiah,  he  turned  up  here  some 
years  ago,  got  work  in  the  stables,  and  was  set  up  by  James  as 


146  WESTWAYS 

the  village  barber.  No  one  knew  whence  he  came.  I  did,  of 
course,,  suspect  him  to  be  a  runaway.  He  is  honest  and  indus 
trious.  Last  year  I  was  ill  when  James  was  absent.  We  have 
only  maids  in  the  house,  and  when  I  was  recovering  Josiah  car 
ried  me  up  and  downstairs  until  James  returned.  A  year 
after  he  came,  Leila  had  an  accident.  Josiah  stopped  her 
horse  and  got  badly  hurt — "  Then  with  quick  insight,  she 
added,  "What  interest  have  you  in  our  barber,  George?  Is 
it  possible  you  know  Josiah  ?  " 

Escape  from  truthful  reply  was  impossible.  "  Yes,  I  do.  He 
is  the  property  of  my  friend  and  neighbour  Woodburn.  I  knew 
him  at  once  —  he  did  not  see  me." 

"Well!"  she  said  coldly,  "what  next,  George  Grey?" 

"  I  must  inform  his  master.  As  a  Southern  woman  you,  of 
course,  see  that  no  other  course  is  possible.  It  is  unpleasant, 
but  your  sense  of  right  must  make  you  agree  with  me." 

She  returned,  speaking  slowly,  "  I  do  wish  you  would  not 
do  it,  George."  Then  she  said  quickly,  "  Have  you  taken  any 
steps  in  this  matter  ?  " 

He  was  fairly  cornered.  "Yes,  I  wrote  to  Woodburn.  He 
will  be  here  in  a  couple  of  days.  I  am  sure  he  will  lose  no 
time  —  and  will  take  legal  measures  at  once  to  reclaim  his 
property." 

"I  suppose  it  is  all  right,"  she  said  despairingly,  "but  I 
am  more  than  sorry  —  what  James  will  say  I  do  not  know.  I 
hope  he  will  not  be  called  on  to  act  —  under  the  law  he  may/' 

"  When  does  he  return  ? "  said  Grey.  "  I  shall,  of  course, 
be  frank  with  him." 

"  That  will  be  advisable.  He  may  be  absent  for  a  week 
longer,  or  so  he  writes.  I  leave  you  to  your  cigar.  I  am  tired, 
and  to-morrow  is  Sunday.  Shall  you  go  to  church  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  Ann.     Good-night." 

At  the  door  she  turned  back  with  a  new  and  relieving  thought, 
"  Suppose  I  —  or  we  —  buy  this  man's  freedom." 


WESTWAYS  147 

"  If  I  owned  him  that  would  not  be  required  after  what  you 
have  told  me,  but  Woodburn  is  an  obstinate,  rather  stern  man, 
and  will  refuse,  I  fear,  to  sell  — " 

"  What  will  he  do  with  Josiah  if  he  is  returned  to  him  as 
the  Act  orders  ?  " 

"  Oh !  once  a  runaway  —  and  the  man  is  no  good  —  he  would 
probably  sell  him  to  be  sent  South." 

She  rose  and  for  a  moment  stood  still  in  the  darkness,  and 
then  crying,  "The  pity  of  it,  my  God,  the  pity  of  it!"  went 
away  without  the  usual  courtesy  of  good-night. 

George  Grey,  when  left  to  his  own  company,  somewhat 
amazed,  began  to  wish  he  had  never  had  a  hand  in  this 
business.  Ann  Penhallow  went  up  to  her  room,  although  it 
was  as  yet  early,  leaving  John  in  the  library  and  Grey  with 
a  neglected  cigar  on  the  porch.  In  the  bedroom  over  his 
shop  the  man  most  concerned  sat  industriously  reading  the 
Tribune. 

Ann  sat  down  to  think.  The  practical  application  of  a 
creed  to  conduct  is  not  always  easy.  All  her  young  life  had 
been  among  kindly  considered  slaves.  Mr.  Woodburn  had  a 
right  to  his  property.  The  law  provided  for  the  return  of 
slaves  if  they  ran  away.  She  suddenly  realized  that  this  man's 
future  fate  was  in  her  power,  and  she  both  liked  and  respected 
him,  and  he  had  been  hurt  in  their  service.  "  Oh !  why  was 
not  James  at  home?  Could  she  sit  still  and  let  things  go 
their  way  while  the  mechanism  of  the  law  worked/'  Between 
head  and  heart  there  was  much  argument.  Her  imagination 
pictured  Josiah's  future. '  "  Had  he  deserved  a  fate  so  sad  ? " 
She  fell  on  her  knees  and  prayed  for  help.  At  last  she  rose 
and  went  down  to  the  library.  John  laid  down  his  book  and 
stood  up.  The  young  face  greeted  her  pleasantly,  as  she  said, 
"  Sit  down.,  John,  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  Can  you  keep  a 
secret?" 

"Why  — yes  — Aunt  Ann.     What  is  it?" 


148  WESTWAYS 

"I  mean,  John,  keep  it  so  that  no  one  will  guess  you  have 
a  secret." 

"  I  think  I  can,"  he  replied,  much  surprised  and  very  cu 
rious. 

"You  are  young,  John,  but  in  your  uncle's  absence  there 
is  no  one  else  to  whom  I  can  turn  for  help.  Now,  listen.  Has 
Mr.  Grey  gone  to  bed  ?  " 

"Yes,  aunt." 

She  leaned  toward  him,  speaking  low,  almost  in  a  whisper, 
"  I  do  not  want  to  explain,  I  only  want  to  tell  you  something. 
Josiah  is  a  runaway  slave,  John." 

"  Yes,  aunt,  he  told  me  all  about  it." 

"  Did  he,  indeed !  " 

"Yes,  we  are  great  friends  —  I  like  him  —  and  he  trusted 
me.  What 's  the  matter  now  ?  "  He  was  quick  to  understand 
that  Josiah  was  in  some  danger.  Naturally  enough  he  remem 
bered  the  man's  talk  and  his  one  fear  —  recapture. 

"  George  Grey  has  recognised  Josiah  as  a  runaway  slave  of 
a  Mr.  Woodburn — :  She  was  most  unwilling  to  say  plainly, 
"  Go  and  warn  him." 

He  started  up.     "  And  they  mean  to  take  him  back  ?  " 

She  was  silent.  The  indecisions  of  the  habitually  decisive 
are  hard  to  deal  with.  The  lad  was  puzzled  by  her  failure  to 
say  more. 

"  It  is  dreadful,  Aunt  Ann.  I  think  I  ought  to  go  and  tell 
Josiah  —  now  —  to-night." 

She  made  no  comment  except  to  say,  "  Arrest  is  not  possible 
on  Sunday  —  and  he  is  safe  until  Monday  or  Tuesday." 

John  Penhallow  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  surprised  that 
she  did  not  say  go,  or  else  forbid  him  to  go;  it  was  unlike 
her.  He  had  no  desire  to  wait  for  Sunday  and  was  filled  with 
anxiety.  "  I  think  I  must  go  now  —  now,"  he  said. 

"  Then  I  shall  go  to  bed,"  she  said,  and  kissing  him  went 
away  slowly  step  by  step  up  the  stairs. 


WESTWAYS  149 

Staircases  are  apt  to  suggest  reflections,  and  there  are  va 
rious  ways  of  rendering  the  French  phrase  "  esprit  de  I'escalier." 
Aware  that  want  of  moral  courage  had  made  her  uncertain 
what  to  do,  or  like  the  Indian,  having  two  hearts,  Ann  had  been 
unable  to  accept  bravely  the  counsel  of  either.  The  loyal  de 
cisiveness  of  a  lad  of  only  sixteen  years  had  settled  the  mat 
ter  and  relieved  her  of  any  need  to  personally  warn  Josiah. 
Some  other  influences  aided  to  make  her  feel  satisfied  that  there 
should  be  a  warning.  She  was  resentful  because  George  Grey 
had  put  her  in  a  position  where  she  had  been  embarrassed  by 
intense  sectional  sense  of  duty  and  by  kindly  personal  regard 
for  a  man  who  not  being  criminal  was  to  be  deprived  of  all  the 
safeguards  against  injustice  provided  by  the  common  law. 
There  were  other  and  minor  causes  which  helped  to  content  her 
with  what  she  well  knew  she  had  done  to  disappoint  Mr.  Wood- 
burn  of  his  prey.  George  Grey  was  really  a  bore  of  capacity 
to  wreck  the  social  patience  of  the  most  courteous.  The  rector 
fled  from  him,  John  always  had  lessons  and  how  would  James 
endure  his  vacuous  talk.  It  all  helped  her  to  be  comfortably 
angry,  and  there  too  was  that  horrible  spittoon. 

The  young  fellow  who  went  with  needless  haste  out  of  the 
house  and  down  the  avenue  about  eleven  o'clock  had  no  in 
decisions.  Josiah  trusted  him,  and  he  felt  the  compliment 
this  implied. 


CHAPTER  X 

ON  the  far  side  of  the  highroad  Westways  slumbered. 
Only  in  the  rector's  small  house  were  lights  burning. 
The  town  was  in  absolute  darkness.  Westways  went  to  bed 
early.  A  pleased  sense  of  the  responsibility  of  his  errand  went 
with  John  as  he  came  near  to  where  Josiah's  humble  two-storey 
house  stood  back  from  the  street  line,  marked  by  the  well-known 
striped  pole  of  the  barber,  of  which  Josiah  was  professionally 
proud.  John  paused  in  front  of  the  door.  He  knew  that  he 
must  awaken  no  one  but  Josiah.  After  a  moment's  thought 
he  went  along  the  side  of  the  house  to  the  small  garden  behind 
it  where  Josiah  grew  the  melons  no  one  else  could  grow,  and 
which  he  delighted  to  take  to  Miss  Leila  or  Mrs.  Penhallow. 
In  the  novel  the  heroes  threw  pebbles  at  the  window  to  call  up 
fair  damsels.  John  grinned;  he  might  break  a  pane,  but  the 
noise  —  He  was  needlessly  cautious.  Josiah  had  built  a 
trellis  against  the  back  of  the  house  for  grapevines  which  had 
not  prospered.  John  began  to  climb  up  it  with  care  and  easily 
got  within  reach  of  the  second-storey  window.  He  tapped 
sharply  on  the  glass,  but  getting  no  reply  hesitated  a  moment. 
He  could  hear  from  within  the  sonorous  assurance  of  deep 
slumber.  Somehow  he  must  waken  him.  He  lifted  the  sash 
and  called  over  and  over  in  a  low  voice,  "  Josiah !  "  The  snor 
ing  ceased,  but  not  the  sleep.  The  lad  was  resolute  and  still 
fearful  of  making  a  noise.  He  climbed  with  care  into  the  dark 
room  upsetting  a  little  table.  Instantly  Josiah  bounded  out  of 
bed  and  caught  him  in  his  strong  grip,  as  John  gasped, 
"Josiah!" 

"  My  God ! "  cried  the  black  in  alarm,  e<  anything  wrong  at 
the  house  ?  " 

150 


WESTWAYS  151 

"  No,  sit  down  —  I  've  got  to  tell  you  something.  Your  old 
master,  Woodburn,  is  coming  to  catch  you  —  he  will  be  here 
soon  —  I  know  he  won't  be  here  for  a  day  or  two  — " 

"  Is  that  so,  Master  John  ?  It  's  awful  —  I  've  got  to  run. 
I  always  knowed  sometime  I  'd  have  to  run."  He  sat  down  on 
the  bed ;  he  was  appalled.  "  God  help  me !  —  where  can  I  go  ? 
I  've  got  two  hundred  dollars  and  seventy-five  cents  saved  up 
in  the  county  bank,  and  I  've  not  got  fifty  cents  in  the  house. 
I  can't  get  the  money  out  —  I  'd  be  afraid  to  go  there  Monday. 
Oh,  Lord!" 

He  began  to  dress  in  wild  haste.  John  tried  in  vain  to  as 
sure  him  that  he  would  be  safe  on  Sunday  and  Monday,  or  even 
later,  but  was  in  fact  not  sure,  and  the  man  was  wailing  like 
a  child  in  distress,  thinking  over  his  easy,  upright  life  and 
his  little  treasure,  which  seemed  to  him  lost.  He  asked  no 
questions;  all  other  emotion  was  lost  in  one  over-mastering 
terror. 

John  said  at  last,  "  If  I  write  a  cheque  for  you,  can  you  sign 
your  name  to  it?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Then  I  will  write  a  cheque  for  all  of  it  and  I  '11  get  it  out 
for  you." 

A  candle  was  lighted  and  the  cheque  written.  "  Now  write 
your  name  here,  Josiah  —  so  —  that 's  right."  He  obeyed  like 
a  child,  and  John  who  had  often  collected  cheques  for  his  aunt 
of  late,  knew  well  enough  how  to  word  it  to  be  paid  to  bearer. 
He  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

"  But  how  will  I  ever  get  it  ?  "  said  Josiah,  "  and  where  must 
I  go  ?  I  '11  get  away  Monday  afternoon." 

John  was  troubled,  and  then  said,  "  I  '11  tell  you.  Go  to  the 
old  cabin  in  the  wood.  That  will  be  safe.  I  will  bring  you 
your  money  Monday  afternoon." 

The  black  reflected  in  silence  and  then  said,  "That  will  do 
—  no  man  will  take  me  alive,  I  know  —  my  God,  I  know !  Who 


152  WESTWAYS 

set  them  on  me?  Who  told?  It  was  that  drunken  rascal, 
Peter.  He  told  me  he'd  tell  if  I  didn't  get  him  whisky. 
How  did  he  know  —  Oh,  Lord !  He  set  'em  on  me  —  I  'd  like 
to  kill  him." 

John  was  alarmed  at  the  fierceness  of  the  threat.  "  Oh !  but 
you  won't  —  promise  me.  I  've  helped  you,  Josiah." 

"  I  promise,  Master  John.  I  'm  a  Christian  man,  thank  the 
Lord.  I  'd  like  to,  but  I  won't  —  I  won't." 

"Now,  that's  right,"  said  John  much  relieved.  "You'll 
go  to  the  cabin  Monday  —  for  sure." 

"Yes  — who  told  you  to  tell  me?" 

John,  prudently  cautious,  refused  to  answer.  "  Now,  let  me 
out,  I  must  go.  I  can't  tell  you  how  sorry  I  will  be — "  and 
he  was  tempted  to  add  his  aunt,  but  was  wise  in  time.  He  had 
done  his  errand  well,  and  was  pleased  with  the  success  of  his 
adventure  and  the  flavour  of  peril  in  what  he  had  done.  He 
let  himself  into  Grey  Pine  and  went  noiselessly  upstairs.  Then 
a  window  was  closed  and  a  waiting,  anxious  woman  went  to 
bed  and  lay  long  awake  thinking. 

John  understood  the  unusual  affection  of  his  aunt's  greeting 
when  before  breakfast  she  kissed  him  and  started  George  Grey 
on  his  easy  conversational  trot.  She  had  compromised  with  her 
political  conscience  and,  notwithstanding,  was  strangely  satis 
fied  and  a  trifle  ashamed  that  she  had  not  been  more  distinctly 
courageous. 

At  church  they  had  as  usual  a  good  congregation  of  the  vil 
lage  folk  and  men  from  the  mills,  for  Rivers  was  eminently  a 
man's  preacher  and  was  much  liked.  John  observed,  however, 
that  Josiah,  who  took  care  of  the  church,  was  not  in  his  usual 
seat  near  the  door.  He  was  at  home  terribly  alarmed  and 
making  ready  for  his  departure  on  Monday.  The  rector  miss 
ing  him  called  after  church,  but  his  knock  was  not  answered. 

When  Mr.  Grey  in  the  afternoon  declared  he  would  take  a 


WESTWAYS  153 

walk  and  mail  some  letters,  Mrs.  Ann  called  John  into  the 
library.  "  Well/5  she  said,  "  did  you  see  Josiah  ?  " 

"  Yes,  aunt."  It  was  characteristic  of  John  Penhallow  even 
thus  early  in  life  that  he  was  modest  and  direct  in  statement. 
He  said  nothing  of  his  mode  of  reaching  Josiah.  "  I  told  him 
of  his  risk.  He  will  hide  in — " 

"  Do  not  tell  me  where,"  said  Ann  quickly ;  "  I  do  not  want 
to  know." 

He  wondered  why  she  desired  to  hear  no  more.  He  went  on 
— "  He  has  money  in  the  county  bank  —  two  hundred  dollars." 

"  He  must  have  been  saving  —  poor  fellow !  " 

"I  wrote  a  cheque  for  him,  to  bearer.  I  am  to  draw  it  to 
morrow  and  take  it  to  him  in  the  afternoon.  Then  he  will  be 
able  to  get  away." 

Here  indeed  was  something  for  Ann  to  think  about.  When 
Josiah  was  missed  and  legal  measures  taken,  a  pursuit  or 
ganized,  John  having  drawn  his  money  might  be  questioned. 
This  would  never  do  —  never.  Oddly  enough  she  had  the 
thought,  "  Who  will  now  shave  James  ?  "  She  smiled  and  said, 
"  I  must  keep  you  out  of  the  case  —  give  me  the  cheque.  Oh, 
I  see  it  is  drawn  to  bearer.  I  wonder  if  his  owner  could  claim 
it.  He  may  —  he  might  —  if  it  is  left  there." 

"  That  would  be  mean,"  said  John. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  thoughtfully.  "  Yes  —  I  could  give  him  the 
money.  Let  me  think  about  it.  Of  course,  I  could  draw  on 
my  account  and  leave  Josiah's  alone.  But  he  has  a  right  to  his 
own  money.  I  will  keep  the  cheque,  John.  I  will  draw  out  his 
money  and  give  it  to  you.  Good  gracious,  boy!  you  are  like 
James  Penhallow." 

"  That 's  praise  for  a  fellow ! "  said  John. 

Ann  had  the  courage  of  her  race  and  meant  at  last  to  see 
this  thing  through  at  all  costs.  The  man  had  made  his  money 
and  should  have  it.  She  was  now  resolute  to  take  her  share 


154  WESTWAYS 

in  the  perilous  matter  she  had  started;  and  after  all  she  was 
the  wife  of  James  Penhallow  of  Grey  Pine;  who  would  dare 
to  question  her?  As  to  George  Grey,  she  dismissed  him  with  a 
low  laugh  and  wondered  when  that  long-desired  guest  would 
elect  to  leave  Grey  Pine. 

At  ten  on  Monday  Billy,  for  choice,  drove  her  over  to  the 
bank  at  the  mills.  The  young  cashier  was  asked  about  his  sick 
sister,  and  then  rather  surprised  as  he  took  the  cheque  in 
quired,  "  How  will  you  have  it,  ma'am  ?  Josiah  must  be  get 
ting  an  investment." 

"  One  hundred  in  fifties  and  the  rest  —  oh,  fifty  in  fives,  the 
rest  in  ones." 

She  drove  away,  and  in  an  hour  gave  the  notes  to  John  in 
an  envelope,  asking  no  questions.  He  set  off  in  the  afternoon 
to  give  Josiah  his  money. 

Meanwhile  on  this  Monday  morning  a  strange  scene  in  this 
drama  was  being  acted  in  Josiah's  little  shop.  He  was  at  the 
door  watchful  and  thinking  of  his  past  and  too  doubtful  future, 
when  he  saw  Peter  Lamb  pause  near  by.  The  man,  fresh  from 
the  terrors  of  delirium  tremens,  had  used  the  gift  of  Grey  with 
some  prudence  and  was  in  the  happy  condition  of  slight  al 
coholic  excitement  and  good-humour. 

"  Halloa  !  "  cried  Peter.  "  How  are  you  ?  I  'm  going  to  the 
mills  to  see  my  girl  —  want  you  to  shave  me  —  got  over  my 
joke ;  funny,  was  n't  it  ?  " 

A  sudden  ferocious  desire  awoke  in  the  good-natured  bar 
ber —  some  long-past  inheritance  of  African  lust  for  the  blood 
of  an  enemy. 

"  Don't  like  to  kiss  with  a  rough  beard,"  said  Peter.  "  I  '11 
pay  —  got  money  —  now." 

"  Come  in,"  said  Josiah.  "  Set  down.  I  '11  shut  the  door 
—  it's  a  cold  morning." 

He  spread  the  lather  over  the  red  face.  "  Head  back  a  bit  — 
that's  right  comfortable  now,  isn't  it?" 


WESTWAYS  155 

"All  right  — go  ahead." 

Josiah  took  his  razor.  "Now,  then,"  he  said,  as  he  set  a 
big  strong  hand  on  the  man's  forehead,  "  if  you  move,  I  '11  cut 
your  throat  —  keep  quiet  —  don't  you  move.  You  told  I  was 
a  slave  —  you  ruined  my  life  —  I  never  did  you  no  harm  — 
I  'd  kill  you  just  as  easy  as  that  — "  and  he  drew  the  blunt 
cold  back  of  the  razor  across  the  hairy  neck. 

"  My  God !  —  I  — "     The  man  shuddered. 

"  Keep  still  —  or  you  are  a  dead  man." 

"  Oh,  Lord !  "  groaned  Lamb. 

"  I  would  kill  you,  but  I  don't  want  to  be  hanged.  God 
will  take  care  of  you  —  He  is  sure.  Some  day  you  will  do 
some  wickedness  worse  than  this  —  you  just  look  at  me." 

There  was  for  Peter  fearful  fascination  in  the  black  face 
of  the  man  who  stood  looking  down  at  him,  the  jaw  moving, 
the  white  teeth  showing,  the  eyes  red,  the  face  twitching  with 
half-suppressed  passion. 

"  Answer  me  now  —  and  by  God,  if  you  lie,  I  will  kill  you. 
You  set  some  one  on  me  ?  Quick  now !  " 

"  I  did." 

"Who  was  it?     No  lies,  now!" 

"Mr.  George  Grey."  Then  Josiah  fully  realized  his  dan 
ger. 

"Why  did  you?" 

"  You  would  n't  help  me  to  get  whisky." 

"Well,  was  that  all?" 

"You  went  and  got  the  preacher  to  set  Mr.  Penhallow  on 
me.  He  gave  me  the  devil." 

"  My  God,  was  that  all  ?  You  've  ruined  me  for  a  drink  of 
whisky  —  you  've  got  your  revenge.  I  'm  lost  —  lost.  Your  day 
will  come  —  I'll  be  there.  Now  go  and  repent  if  you  can  — 
you  've  been  near  to  death.  Go !  "  he  cried. 

He  seized  the  terrified  man  with  one  strong  hand,  lifted  him 
from  the  chair,  cast  open  the  door  and  hurled  him  out  into 


156  WESTWAYS 

the  street.     A  little  crowd  gathered  around  Lamb  as  he  rose  on 
one  elbow,  dazed. 

"  Drunk !  "  said  Pole,  the  butcher.  "  Drunk  again !  " 
Josiah  shut  and  locked  the  door.  Then  he  tied  up  his 
bundle  of  clothes,  filled  a  basket  with  food,  and  went  out  into 
his  garden.  He  cast  a  look  back  at  the  neatly  kept  home  he 
had  recently  made  fresh  with  paint.  He  paused  to  pick  a 
chilled  rosebud  and  set  it  in  his  button-hole  —  a  fashion  copied 
from  his  adored  captain.  He  glanced  tearfully  at  the  glass- 
framed  covers  of  the  yellowing  melon  vines.  He  had  made 
money  out  of  his  melons,  and  next  year  would  have  been  able 
to  send  a  good  many  to  Pittsburgh.  As  he  turned  to  leave  the 
little  garden  in  which  he  took  such  pride,  he  heard  an  old 
rooster's  challenge  in  his  chicken-yard,  which  had  been  an 
other  means  of  money-making.  He  went  back  and  opened  the 
door,  leaving  the  fowl  their  liberty.  When  in  the  lane  behind 
his  house,  he  walked  along  in  the  rear  of  the  houses,  and  mak 
ing  sure  that  he  was  unobserved,  crossed  the  road  and  entered 
the  thick  Penhallow  forest.  He  walked  rapidly  for  half  an 
hour,  and  leaving  the  wood  road  found  his  way  to  the  cabin 
the  first  Penhallow  built.  It  was  about  half  after  one  o'clock 
when  the  fugitive  lay  down  on  the  earth  of  the  cabin  with  his 
hands  clasped  behind  his  head.  He  stared  upward,  wonder 
ing  where  he  could  go  to  be  safe.  He  would  have  to  spend  some 
of  the  carefully  saved  money.  That  seemed  to  him  of  all  things 
the  most  cruel.  He  was  not  trained  to  consecutive  thinking; 
memories  old  or  new  flitted  through  his  mind.  Now  and  then 
he  said  to  himself  that  perhaps  he  had  had  no  right  to  run 
away  —  and  perhaps  this  was  punishment.  He  had  fled  from 
the  comforts  of  an  easy  life,  where  he  had  been  fed,  clothed 
and  trusted.  Not  for  a  moment  would  he  have  gone  back  — 
but  why  had  he  run  away?  What  message  that  soaring  hawk 
had  sent  to  him  from  his  swift  circling  sweep  overhead  he 


WESTWAYS  157 

was  not  able  to  put  in  words  even  if  he  had  so  desired.  "  That 
wicked  hawk  done  it ! "  he  said  aloud. 

At  last,  hearing  steps  outside,  he  bounded  to  his  feet,  a 
hand  on  the  knife  in  his  belt.  He  stood  still  waiting,  ready  as 
a  crouching  tiger,  resolute,  a  man  at  bay  with  an  unsated  ap 
petite  for  freedom.  The  door  opened  and  John  entered. 

"You  sort  of  scared  me,  Master  John." 

"You  are  safe  here,  Josiah,  and  here  is  your  money." 

He  took  it  without  a  word,  except,  "  I  reckon,  Master  John, 
you  know  I  'm  thankful.  Was  there  any  one  missing  me  ?  " 

"  No,  no  one." 

"  I  '11  get  away  to-night.  I  '11  go  down  through  Lonesome 
Man's  Swamp  and  take  my  old  bateau  and  run  down  the  river. 
You  might  look  after  my  muskrat  traps.  I  was  meaning  to 
make  a  purse  for  the  little  missy.  Now  do  you  just  go  away, 
and  may  the  Lord  bless  you.  I  guess  we  won't  ever  meet  no 
more.  You  '11  be  mighty  careful,  Master  John  ?  " 

"  But  you  '11  write,  Josiah." 

"  I  would  n't  dare  to  write  —  I  ?d  be  takin'  risks.  Think  I  'm 
safe  here?  Oh,  Lord!" 

"  No  one  knows  where  you  are  —  you  '11  go  to-night  ?  " 

"Yes,  after  dark."  He  seemed  more  at  ease  as  he  said, 
"  It  was  Peter  Lamb  set  Mr.  Grey  on  me.  He  must  have  seen 
me  after  that.  I  told  you  it  was  Peter." 

"Yes," — and  then  with  the  hopefulness  of  youth  —  "but 
you  will  come  back,  I  am  sure." 

"  No,  sir  —  never  no  more  —  and  the  captain  and  Miss 
Leila  —  it 's  awful  —  where  can  I  go  ?  " 

John  could  not  help  him  further.  "  God  bless  you,  Master 
John."  They  parted  at  length  at  the  door  of  the  cabin  which 
had  seen  no  other  parting  as  sad. 

The  black  lay  down  again.  Now  and  then  he  swept  his 
sleeve  across  tearful  eyes.  Then  he  stowed  his  money  under 


158  WESTWAYS 

his  shirt  in  a  linen  bag  hung  to  his  neck,  keeping  out  a  few 
dollars,  and  at  last  fell  sound  asleep  exhausted  by  emotion. 

Josiah's  customers  were  few  in  number.  Westways  was  too 
poor  to  be  able  to  afford  a  barber  more  than  once  a  week,  and 
then  it  was  always  in  mid-morning  when  work  ceased  for  an 
hour.  Sometimes  the  Squire  on  his  way  to  the  mills  came  to 
town  early,  but  as  a  rule  Josiah  went  to  Grey  Pine  and  shaved 
him  while  they  talked  about  colts  and  their  training.  As  he 
was  rarely  needed  in  the  afternoon,  Josiah  often  clos&d  his  shop 
about  two  o'clock  and  went  a-fishing  or  set  traps  on  the  river 
bank.  His  absence  on  this  Monday  afternoon  gave  rise,  there 
fore,  to  no  surprise,  but  when  his  little  shop  remained  closed 
on  Tuesday,  his  neighbours  began  to  wonder.  Peter  Lamb 
wandering  by  rather  more  drunken  than  on  Monday,  stood  a 
while  looking  at  the  shut  door,  then  went  on  his  devious  way, 
thinking  of  the  fierce  eyes  and  the  curse.  Next  came  Swallow 
for  his  daily  shave.  He  knocked  at  the  door  and  tried  to  en 
ter.  It  was  locked.  He  heard  no  answer  to  his  louder  knock. 
He  at  once  suspected  that  his  prey  had  escaped  him,  and  that 
the  large  fee  he  had  counted  on  was  to  say  the  least  doubtful. 
But  who  could  have  warned  the  black  ?  Had  Mr.  Grey  been  im 
prudent?  Lamb  had  been  the  person  who  had  led  Grey,  as 
Swallow  knew  from  that  gentleman,  to  suspect  Josiah  as  a  run 
away;  but  now  as  he  saw  Peter  reeling  up  the  street,  he  was 
aware  that  he  was  in  no  state  to  be  questioned.  .He  went  away 
disappointed  and  found  that  no  one  he  met  knew  whither  Josiah 
had  gone. 

At  Grey  Pine  Mrs.  Ann,  uneasily  conscious  of  her  share  in 
the  matter,  asked  John  if  he  had  given  the  money  to  Josiah. 
He  said  yes,  and  that  the  man  was  safe  and  by  this  time  far 
away.  Meanwhile,  the  little  town  buzzed  with  unwonted  excite 
ment  and  politics  gave  place  about  the  grocer's  door  at  evening 
to  animated  discussion,  which  was  even  more  interesting  when 


WESTWAYS  159 

on  Wednesday  there  was  still  no  news  and  the  town  lamented 
the  need  to  go  unshaven. 

On  Thursday  morning  Billy  was  sent  with  a  led  horse  to  meet 
Penhallow  at  Westways  Crossing.  Penhallow  had  written  that 
he  must  go  on  to  a  meeting  of  the  directors  of  the  bank  at  the 
mills  and  would  not  be  at  home  until  dinner-time.  The  after 
noon  train  brought  Mr.  Woodburn,  who  as  advised  by  Grey  went 
at  once  to  Swallow's  house,  where  Mrs.  Swallow  gave  him  a  note 
from  her  husband  asking  that  if  he  came  he  would  await  the 
lawyer's  return. 

"Well,  Billy,  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Penhallow,  as  he  settled 
himself  in  the  saddle.  "All  well  at  Grey  Pine?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

The  Squire  was  in  high  good-humour  on  having  made  two 
good  contracts  for  iron  rails.  "  How  are  politics,  Billy  ?  " 

"  Don't  know,  sir." 

"  Anything  new  at  Westways  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Billy  with  emphasis. 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"Josiah's  run  away." 

"Run  away!     Why?" 

"  Don't  know  —  he 's  gone." 

Penhallow  was  troubled,  but  asked  no  other  questions,  as  he 
was  late.  He  might  learn  more  at  home.  He  rode  through  the 
town  and  on  to  the  mills.  There  he  transacted  some  business 
and  went  thence  to  the  bank.  The  board  of  well-to-do  farmers 
was  already  in  session,  and  Swallow  —  a  member  —  was  talking. 

"  What  is  that  ? "  said  Penhallow  as  he  entered,  hearing 
Josiah  mentioned. 

Some  one  said,  "  He  has  been  missing  since  Monday."  "  He 
drew  out  all  his  money  that  morning,"  said  Swallow,  "  all  of  it." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Penhallow.  "  Did  he  draw  it  —  I  mean  in 
person  ?  " 


160  WESTWAYS 

"  No,"  said  the  lawyer,  who  was  well  pleased  to  make  mischief 
and  hated  Penhallow. 

Penhallow  was  uneasily  curious.  "  Who  drew  it  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  Josiah  could  hardly  have  known  how  to  draw  a  cheque ;  I  had 
once  to  help  him  write  one." 

"  It  was  a  cheque  to  bearer,  I  hear,"  said  Swallow  smiling. 
"  Mrs.  Penhallow  drew  the  money.  No  doubt  Josiah  got  it  be 
fore  he  left." 

Penhallow  said,  "You  are  insolent." 

"  You  asked  a  question,"  returned  Swallow,  "  and  I  answered 
it." 

"  And  with  a  comment  I  permit  no  man  to  make.  You  said, 
'no  doubt  he  got  it.'  I  want  an  apology  at  once."  He  went 
around  the  table  to  where  Swallow  sat. 

The  lawyer  rose,  saying,  "  Every  one  will  know  to-day  that 
Josiah  was  a  runaway  slave.  His  master  will  be  here  this  even 
ing.  Whoever  warned  him  is  liable  under  the  Fugitive- Slave 
Act  —  Mrs.  Penhallow  drew  the  money  and  — " 

"  One  word  more,  sir,  of  my  wife,  and  I  will  thrash  you.  It 
is  clear  that  you  know  all  about  the  matter  and  connect  my 
wife  with  this  man's  escape  —  you  have  insulted  her." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Penhallow,"  said  the  old  farmer  who  presided,  "  I 
beg  of  you  — " 

"  Keep  quiet,"  said  the  Squire,  "  this  is  my  business." 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  insult  Mrs.  Penhallow,"  said  Swallow ; 
"  I  apologize  —  I  — " 

"You  miserable  dog,"  said  Penhallow,  "you  are  both  a 
coward  and  a  lying,  usurious  plunderer  of  hard-working  men. 
You  may  be  thankful  that  I  am  a  good-tempered  man  —  but 
take  care." 

"I  shall  ask  this  board  to  remember  what  has  been  said  of 
me,"  said  Swallow.  "  The  law  — " 

"Law!     The  law  of  the  cowhide  is  what  you  will  get  if  I 


WESTWAYS  161 

hear  again  that  you  have  used  my  wife's  name.  Good-day, 
gentlemen." 

He  went  our  furious  and  rode  homeward  at  speed.  Before 
the  Squire  reached  Grey  Pine  he  had  recovered  his  temper  and 
his  habitual  capacity  to  meet  the  difficulties  of  life  with  judicial 
calmness.  He  had  long  been  sure  that  Josiah  had  been  a  slave 
and  had  run  away.  But  after  these  years,  that  he  should  have 
been  discovered  in  this  remote  little  town  seemed  to  him  singular. 
The  man  was  useful  to  him  in  several  ways  and  had  won  hia 
entire  respect  and  liking,  so  that  he  felt  personal  annoyance  be 
cause  of  this  valuable  servant  having  been  scared  away.  That 
Ann  had  been  in  any  way  concerned  in  aiding  his  escape  per 
plexed  him,  as  he  remembered  how  entire  was  her  belief  in  the 
creed  of  the  masters  of  slaves  who  with  their  Northern  allies  had 
so  long  been  the  controlling  legislative  power  of  the  country. 

"I  am  glad  to  be  at  home,  my  dear  Ann,"  he  said,  as  they 
met  on  the  porch.  "  Ah !  Grey,  so  you  are  come  at  last.  It 
is  not  too  late  to  say  how  very  welcome  you  are;  and  John,  I 
believe  you  have  grown  an  inch  since  I  left." 

They  went  in,  chatting  and  merry.  The  Squire  cast  an 
amused  look  at  the  big  spittoon  and  then  at  his  wife,  and  went 
upstairs  to  dress  for  dinner.  At  the  meal  no  one  for  a  variety 
of  good  reasons  mentioned  Josiah.  The  tall  soldier  with  the 
readiness  of  helpless  courtesy  fell  into  the  talk  of  politics  which 
Grey  desired.  "  Yes,  Buchanan  will  carry  the  State,  Grey,  but 
by  no  large  majority." 

"  And  the  general  election  ?  "  asked  the  cousin. 

"Yes,  that  is  my  fear.     He  will  be  elected." 

Ann,  who  dreaded  these  discussions,  had  just  now  a  reproach 
ful  political  conscience.  She  glanced  at  her  husband  expecting 
him  to  defend  his  beliefs.  He  was  silent,  however,  while  Grey 
exclaimed,  "  Fear,  sir  —  fear  ?  You  surely  cannot  mean  to  say 
—  to  imply  that  the  election  of  a  black  Republican  would  be 


162  WESTWAYS 

desirable."  He  laid  down  his  fork  and  was  about  to  become 
untimely  eloquent  —  Rivers  smiled  —  watching  the  Squire  and 
his  wife,  as  Penhallow  said: 

"  Pardon  me,  Grey,  but  I  cannot  have  my  best  mutton  neg 
lected." 

"  Oh,  yes  —  yes  —  but  a  word  —  a  word.  Elect  Fremont  — 
and  we  secede.  Elect  Buchanan  —  and  the  Union  is  safe. 
There,  sir,  you  have  it  in  a  nutshell." 

"  Ah,  my  dear  Grey,"  said  Penhallow,  "  this  is  rather  of  the 
nature  of  a  threat  —  never  a  very  digestible  thing  —  for  me,  at 
least  —  and  I  am  not  very  convincible.  We  will  discuss  it 
over  our  wine  or  a  cigar."  He  turned  to  his  wife,  "  Any  news 
of  Leila,  Ann?" 

"  Yes,  I  had  a  letter  to-day,"  she  returned,  somewhat  re 
lieved.  "  She  seems  to  be  better  satisfied." 

Grey  accepted  the  interrupting  hint  and  fell  to  critical  talk 
of  the  Squire's  horses.  After  the  wine  Penhallow  carried  off 
his  guest  to  the  library,  and  avoiding  politics  with  difficulty  was 
unutterably  bored  by  the  little  gentleman's  reminiscent  nothings 
about  himself,  his  crops,  tobacco,  wines,  his  habits  of  life,  what 
agreed  with  him  and  what  did  not.  At  last,  with  some  final 
whisky,  Mr.  Grey  went  to  bed. 

Ann,  who  was  waiting  anxiously,  eager  to  get  through  with 
the  talk  she  dreaded,  went  at  once  into  the  library.  Penhallow 
rising  threw  his  cigar  into  the  fire.  She  laughed,  but  not  in 
her  usual  merry  way,  and  cried,  "  Do  smoke,  James,  I  shall  not 
mind  it;  I  am  forever  disciplined  to  any  fate.  There  is  a  spit 
toon  in  the  hall  —  a  spittoon !  " 

The  Squire  laughed  joyously,  and  kissed  her.  "  I  can  wait 
for  my  pipe;  we  can't  have  any  lapse  in  domestic  discipline." 
Then  he  added,  "  I  hear  that  my  good  Josiah  has  gone  away  — 
I  may  as  well  say,  run  away." 

"  Yes  —  he  has  gone,  James."  She  hesitated  greatly  trou 
bled. 


WESTWAYS  163 

"  And  you  helped  him  —  a  runaway  slave  —  you  — "  He 
smiled.  It  had  for  him  an  oddly  humorous  aspect. 

"I  did  —  I  did — "  and  the  little  lady  began  to  sob  like  a 
child.  "  It  was  —  was  wrong  — "  There  was  nothing  comic  in 
it  for  Ann  Penhallow. 

"You  angel  of  goodness,"  he  cried,  as  he  caught  her  in  his 
arms  and  held  the  weeping  face  against  his  shoulder,  "  my  brave 
little  lady!" 

"  I  ought  not  to  have  done  it  —  but  I  did  —  I  did  —  oh, 
James !  To  think  that  my  cousin  should  have  brought  this 
trouble  on  us  —  But  I  did  —  oh,  James  !  " 

"Listen,  my  dear.  If  I  had  been  here,  I  should  have  done 
it.  See  what  you  have  saved  me.  Now  sit  down  and  let  us 
have  it  all  out,  my  dear,  all  of  it." 

"  And  you  really  mean  that  ?  "  she  wailed  piteously.  "  You 
won't  think  I  did  wrong  —  you  won't  think  I  have  made  trouble 
for  you — " 

"  You  have  not,"  he  replied,  "  you  have  helped  me.  But, 
dear,  do  sit  down  and  just  merely,  as  in  these  many  years,  trust 
my  love.  Now  quiet  yourself  and  let  us  talk  it  over  calmly." 

"  Yes  —  yes."  She  wiped  her  eyes.  "  Do  smoke,  James  — 
I  like  it." 

"  Oh,  you  dear  liar,"  he  said.     "  And  so  it  was  Grey  ?  " 

She  looked  up.  "Yes,  George  Grey;  but,  James,  he  did  not 
know  how  much  we  liked  Josiah  nor  how  good  he  had  been  to 
me,  and  how  he  got  hurt  when  he  stopped  Leila's  pony.  He  was 
sorry  —  but  it  was  too  late  —  oh,  James !  —  you  will  not  —  oh, 
you  will  not — " 

"Will  not  what,  dear?"  Penhallow  was  disgusted.  A  guest 
entertained  in  his  own  house  to  become  a  detective  of  an  escaped 
slave  in  Westways,  at  his  very  gate !  "  My  charity,  Ann,  hardly 
covers  this  kind-  of  sin  against  the  decencies  of  life.  But  I  wish 
to  hear  all  of  it.  Now,  who  betrayed  the  man  —  who  told 
Grey?" 


164  WESTWAYS 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  that  it  was  Peter  Lamb  who  first  men 
tioned  Josiah  to  George  Grey  as  a  runaway.  When  he  spoke  of 
his  lost  fingers,  George  was  led  to  suspect  who  Josiah  really 
was.  Then  he  saw  him,  and  as  soon  as  he  was  sure,  he  wrote 
to  a  Mr.  Woodburn,  who  was  Josiah's  old  owner." 

"  I  suppose  he  recognized  Josiah  readily  ?  " 

"Yes,  he  had  been  a  servant  of  George's  friend,  Mr.  Wood- 
burn,  and  George  says  he  was  a  man  indulgently  treated  and 
much  trusted." 

"  I  infer  from  what  I  learned  to-day  that  George  told  you  all 
this  and  had  already  seen  Swallow,  so  that  the  trap  was  set  and 
Mr.  Woodburn  was  to  arrive.  Did  George  imagine  you  would 
warn  my  poor  barber — " 

"  But  I  —  I  did  n't  —  I  mean  —  I  let  John  hear  about  it  — 
and  he  told  Josiah." 

He  listened.  Here  was  another  Mrs.  Ann.  There  was  in 
Ann  at  times  a  bewildering  childlike  simplicity  with  remark 
able  intelligence  —  a  combination  to  be  found  in  some  of  the 
nobler  types  of  womanhood.  He  made  no  remark  upon  her  way 
of  betraying  the  trust  implied  in  George  Grey's  commonplace 
confession. 

"  So,  then,  my  dear,  John  went  and  gave  the  man  a  warn 
ing?" 

"  Yes,  I  would  have  gone,  but  it  was  at  night  and  I  thought 
it  better  to  let  John  see  him.  How  he  did  it  I  did  not  want 
to  know  —  I  preferred  to  know  nothing  about  it." 

This  last  sentence  so  appealed  to  Penhallow's  not  very  ready 
sense  of  humour  that  he  felt  it  needful  to  control  his  mirth 
as  he  saw  her  watching  earnestness.  "  Grey,  I  presume,  called 
on  that  rascal  Swallow,  Mr.  Woodburn  is  sent  for,  and  mean 
while  Josiah  is  told  and  wisely  runs  away.  He  will  never  be 
caught.  Anything  else,  my  dear?" 

"  Yes,  I  said  to  George  that  we  would  buy  Josiah's  freedom  — 
what  amuses  you,  James  ?  "  He  was  smiling. 


WESTWAYS  165 

"  Oh,  the  idea  of  buying  a  man's  power  to  go  and  come,  when 
he  has  been  his  own  master  for  years.  You  were  right,  but  it 
seems  that  you  failed  —  or,  so  I  infer." 

"Yes.  He  said  Mr.  Woodburn  was  still  angry  and  always 
had  considered  Josiah  wickedly  ungrateful."  Penhallow  looked 
at  his  wife.  Her  sense  of  the  comedies  of  life  was  sometimes 
beyond  his  comprehension,  but  now  —  now  was  she  not  a  little 
bit,  half  consciously,  of  the  defrauded  master's  opinion? 

"And  so,  when  that  failed,  you  went  to  bank  and  drew  out 
the  poor  fellow's  savings  ?  "  He  meant  to  hear  the  whole  story. 
There  was  worse  yet,  and  he  was  sure  she  would  speak  of  it. 
But  now  she  was  her  courageous  self  and  desired  to  confess  her 
share  in  the  matter.  "  Of  course,  he  had  to  have  money,  Ann." 

She  wanted  to  get  through  with  this,  the  most  unpleasant 
part  of  the  matter.  "  I  want  to  tell  you,"  she  said.  "  I  drew 
out  his  money  with  a  cheque  John  made  out  and  Josiah  signed. 
John  took  him  his  two  hundred  dollars,  as  he  knew  where 
Josiah  would  hide  —  I  —  I  did  not  want  to  know." 

Her  large  part  in  this  perilous  business  began  to  trouble  the 
Squire.  His  face  had  long  been  to  her  an  open  book,  and  she 
saw  in  his  silence  the  man's  annoyance.  She  added  instantly, 
"  I  could  not  let  John  draw  it  —  and  Josiah  would  not  —  he 
was  too  scared.  He  had  to  have  his  money.  Was  I  wrong  — 
was  I  foolish,  James  ?  " 

"  No  —  you  were  right.  The  cheque  was  in  John's  handwrit 
ing.  You  were  the  person  to  draw  it.  I  would  have  drawn 
the  money  for  him.  He  had  a  man's  right  to  his  honest  sav 
ings.  It  will  end  here  —  so  you  may  be  quite  at  ease."  Of 
this  he  was  not  altogether  certain.  He  understood  now  why 
she  had  not  given  him  of  her  own  money,  but  Ann  was  clearly 
too  agitated  to  make  it  well  or  wise  to  question  her  methods 
further.  "  Go  to  bed,  dear,  and  sleep  the  sleep  of  the  just  — 
you  did  the  right  thing."  He  kissed  her.  "  Good-night." 

"  One  moment  more,  James.     You  know,   of  course  —  you 


166  WESTWAYS 

know  that  all  my  life  I  have  believed  with  my  brothers  that 
slavery  was  wise  and  right.  I  had  to  believe  that  —  to  think 
so  might  exact  from  me  and  others  what  I  never  could  have  antic 
ipated.  I  came  face  to  face  with  a  test  of  my  creed,  and  I 
failed.  I  am  glad  I  failed." 

"  My  dear  Ann/'  he  said,  "  I  am  supposed  to  be  a  Christian 
man  —  I  go  to  church,  I  have  a  creed  of  conduct.  To-day  I 
lost  my  temper  and  told  a  man  I  would  thrash  him  if  he  dared 
to  say  a  word  more." 

"  It  was  at  the  bank,  James  ?  " 

"Yes.  That  fellow  Swallow  spoke  of  your  having  drawn 
Josiah's  money.  He  was  insolent.  You  need  have  no  anxiety 
about  it  —  it  is  all  over.  I  only  mention  it  because  I  want  you 
to  feel  that  our  creeds  of  conduct  in  life  are  not  always  our 
masters,  and  sometimes  ought  not  to  be.  Let  that  comfort  you 
a  little.  You  know  that  to  have  been  a  silent  looker-on  at  the 
return  to  slavery  of  a  man  to  whom  we  owed  so  much  was  im 
possible.  My  wonder  is  that  for  a  moment  you  could  have 
hesitated.  It  makes  me  comprehend  more  charitably  the  at 
titude  of  the  owners  of  men.  Now,  dear,  we  won't  talk  any 
more.  Good-night  —  again  —  good-night." 

He  lighted  a  cigar  and  sat  long  in  thought.  He  had  meant 
not  to  speak  to  her  of  Swallow,  but  it  had  been,  as  he  saw,  of 
service.  Then  he  wondered  how  long  Mr.  George  Grey  would 
remain  and  if  he  would  not  think  it  necessary  to  speak  of 
Josiah.  As  concerned  John,  he  would  be  in  no  hurry  to  talk 
to  him  of  the  barber;  and  how  the  lad  had  grown  in  mind  and 
body !  —  a  wonderful  change  and  satisfactory. 

When  after  breakfast  Mr.  Grey  showed  no  desire  to  men 
tion  Josiah  and  prudently  avoided  talk  about  politics,  Penhal- 
low  was  greatly  relieved.  That  his  host  did  not  open  the  ques 
tion  of  Mr.  Grey's  conduct  in  the  matter  of  the  runaway  was  as 
satisfactory  to  the  Maryland  gentleman,  whose  sense  of  duty  had 
created  for  him  a  situation  which  was  increasingly  disagree- 


WESTWAYS  167 

able.  He  warmly  welcomed  Penhallow's  invitation  to  look  at 
some  newly  purchased  horses,  and  expressed  the  most  cordial 
approval  of  whatever  he  saw,  somewhat  to  the  amusement  of 
Penhallow. 

Penhallow  left  him  when,  declining  to  ride  to  the  mills,  Mr. 
Grey  retired  to  the  library  and  read  the  Tribune,  with  internal 
comment  on  its  editorial  columns.  He  laid  the  paper  aside. 
Mr.  Woodburn  would  probably  have  arrived  in  the  afternoon,  and 
would  have  arranged  with  Swallow  for  a  consultation  in  which 
Mr.  Grey  would  be  expected  to  take  part.  It  was  plain  that  he 
really  must  talk  to  the  Captain.  He  rose  and  went  slowly  down 
the  avenue.  A  half-hour  in  Westways  singularly  relieved  him. 
Swallow  was  not  at  home,  and  Josiah,  the  cause  of  Mr.  Grey's 
perplexities,  had  certainly  fled,  nor  did  he  learn  that  Mr.  Wood- 
burn  had  already  arrived. 

He  was  now  shamefully  eager  to  escape  that  interview  with 
the  captain,  and  relieved  to  find  that  there  was  no  need  to  wait 
for  the  friend  he  had  brought  to  Westways  on  a  vain  errand. 
Eeturning  to  Grey  Pine,  he  explained  to  his  cousin  that  letters 
from  home  made  it  necessary  for  him  to  leave  on  the  mid-after 
noon  train.  Never  did  Ann  Penhallow  more  gratefully  prac 
tise  the  virtue  that  speeds  the  parting  guest.  He  was  sorry  to 
miss  the  captain  and  would  have  the  pleasure  of  sending  him 
a  barrel  of  the  best  Maryland  whisky ;  "  and  would  you,  my  dear 
cousin,  say,  in  your  delightful  way,  to  the  good  rector  how  much 
I  enjoyed  his  conversation?" 

Ann  saw  that  the  lunch  was  of  the  best  and  that  the  wagon 
was  ready  in  more  than  ample  season.  As  he  left,  she  expressed 
all  the  regret  she  ought  to  have  felt,  and  as  the  carriage  disap 
peared  at  a  turn  of  the  avenue  she  sank  down  in  a  chair.  Then 
she  rang  a  bell.  "  Take  away  that  thing/'  she  said, — "  that 
spittoon." 

"  If  James  Penhallow  were  here,"  she  murmured,  "  I  should 
ask  him  to  say  —  damn !  I  wonder  now  if  that  man  Woodburn 


168  WESTWAYS 

will  come,  and  if  there  will  be  a  difficulty  with  James  on  my  ac 
count."  She  sat  long  in  thought,  waiting  to  greet  her  hus 
band,  while  Mr.  Grey  was  left  impatient  at  the  station  owing  to 
the  too  hospitable  desire  of  Ann  to  speed  the  parting  guest. 

When  about  "dusk  the  Squire  rode  along  the  road  through 
Westways,  he  came  on  the  rector  and  dismounted,  leaving  his 
horse  to  be  led  home  by  Pole's  boy.  "  Glad  to  see  you,  Mark. 
How  goes  it ;  and  how  did  you  like  Mr.  Grey  ?  " 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Squire,  I  did  not  like  him.  I  was 
forced  into  a  talk  about  politics.  We  differed,  as  you  may  sup 
pose.  He  was  not  quite  pleasant.  He  seemed  to  have  been  so 
mixed  up  with  this  sad  business  about  Josiah  that  I  kept  away 
at  last,  so  that  I  might  keep  my  temper.  Billy  drove  him  to 
the  station  after  lunch." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  Penhallow,  pleased  that  Grey  had  gone.  It 
was  news  to  him  and  not  unwelcome.  Ann  would  no  doubt 
explain.  "  What  put  Grey  on  the  track  of  Josiah  as  a  run 
away?  Was  it  a  mere  accidental  encounter?"  He  desired  to 
get  some  confirmatory  information. 

"No  —  I  suspect  not."  Then  he  related  what  Josiah  had 
told  him  of  Peter's  threats.  "  I  may  do  that  reprobate  injus 
tice,  but  —  However,  that  is  all  I  now  know  or  feel  justified  in 
suspecting." 

"Well,  come  up  and  dine  to-day;  we  can  talk  it  out  after 
dinner." 

"  With  pleasure,"  said  Rivers. 

Penhallow  moodily  walking  up  the  street,  his  head  bent  in 
thought,  was  made  aware  that  he  was  almost  in  collision  with 
Swallow  and  a  large  man  with  a  look  of  good-humoured  amuse 
ment  and  the  wide-open  eyes  and  uplift  of  brow  expressive  of 
pleasure  and  surprise. 

"  By  George,  Woodburn  !  "  said  the  Squire.  "  I  heard  some 
one  of  your  name  was  here,  but  did  not  connect  the  name  with 
you.  I  last  heard  of  you  as  in  a  wild  mix-up  with  the  Sioux, 


WESTWAYS  169 

and  I  wished  I  was  with  you."  As  Penhallow  spoke  the  two 
men  shook  hands,  Swallow  meanwhile  standing  apart  not  over- 
pleased  as  through  the  narrowed  lids  of  near-sight  he  saw  that 
the  two  men  must  have  known  one  another  well  and  even  inti 
mately,  for  Woodburn  replied,  "  Thought  you  knew  I  'd  left  the 
army,  Jim.  The  last  five  years  I  've  been  running  my  wife's 
plantation  in  Maryland." 

The  Squire's  pleasure  at  his  encounter  with  an  old  West 
Point  comrade  for  a  moment  caused  him  to  forget  that  this  was 
the  master  who  had  been  set  on  Josiah's  track  by  Grey.  It  was 
but  for  a  moment.  Then  he  drew  up  his  soldierly  figure  and 
said  coldly,  "  I  am  sorry  that  you  are  here  on  what  cannot  be  a 
very  agreeable  errand." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Woodburn  cheerfully,  "  I  came  to  get  my  old 
servant,  Caesar.  It  seems  to  have  been  a  fool's  errand.  He  has 
slipped  away.  I  suppose  that  Grey  as  usual  talked  too  freely. 
But  how  the  deuce  does  it  concern  you?  I  see  that  it  does." 

Penhallow  laughed.      "  He  was  my  barber." 

"  And  mine,"  said  Woodburn.  "  If  you  have  missed  him, 
Jim,  for  a  few  days,  I  have  missed  him  for  three  years  and 
more."  Then  both  men  laughed  heartily  at  their  inequality  of 
loss. 

"  I  cannot  understand  why  this  fellow  ran  away.  He  was  a 
man  I  trusted  and  indulged  to  such  an  extent  that  my  wife  says 
I  spoiled  him.  She  says  he  owned  me  quite  as  much  as  I  owned 
him  — a  darned  ungrateful  cuss!  I  came  here  pretty  cross 
when  I  got  George's  letter,  and  now  I  hear  of  an  amount  of 
hostile  feeling  which  rather  surprised  me." 

"That  you  are  surprised,  Will,  surprises  me,"  said  Penhal 
low.  "  The  Fugitive-Slave  Act  will  always  meet  with  opposi 
tion  at  the  North.  It  seems  made  to  create  irritation  even 
among  people  who  really  are  not  actively  hostile  to  slavery.  If 
it  became  necessary  to  enforce  it,  I  believe  that  I  would  obey 
it,  because  it  is  the  law  —  but  it  is  making  endless  trouble. 


170  WESTWAYS 

May  I  ask  what  you  propose  to  do  about  this  present  case  ?  " 

"Do  —  oh,  nothing !  I  am  advised  to  employ  detectives  and 
hunt  the  man  down.  I  will  not;  I  shall  go  home.  It  is  not 
Mr.  Swallow's  advice." 

"  No,  it  is  not,"  said  the  lawyer,  who  stood  aside  waiting  a 
chance  to  speak.  "  Some  one  warned  the  man,  and  it  is  pretty 
generally  suspected  how  he  came  to  be  told." 

Penhallow  turned  to  Woodburn,  "  Has  Mr.  Swallow  ven 
tured  to  connect  me  or  any  of  my  family  with  this  matter  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Woodburn,  which  was  true.  Swallow  meant  to 
keep  in  reserve  Mrs.  Penhallow's  share  in  the  escape  until  he 
learned  how  far  an  angry  slave-owner  was  disposed  to  go. 
Woodburn  had,  however,  let  him  understand  that  he  was  not  of 
a  mind  to  go  further,  and  had  paid  in  good-humour  a  bill 
he  thought  excessive.  Grey  had  made  it  all  seem  easy,  and  then 
as  Swallow  now  learned  had  gone  away.  He  had  also  written 
to  his  own  overseer,  and  thus  among  their  neighbours  a  strong 
feeling  prevailed  that  this  was  a  case  for  prompt  and  easy 
action.  The  action  had  been  prompt  and  had  failed.  Wood- 
burn  was  going  home  to  add  more  bitterness  to  the  Southern 
sense  of  Northern  injustice. 

When  Woodburn,  much  to  Penhallow's  relief,  had  said  he 
was  done  with  the  case,  the  Squire  returned,  "  Then,  as  you  are 
through  with  Mr.  Swallow,  come  home  and  dine  with  me. 
Where  are  you  staying?" 

"At  Mr.  Swallow's,  but  I  leave  by  the  night  train." 

"  So  soon !  But  come  and  dine.  I  will  send  for  your  bag 
and  see  that  you  get  to  your  train." 

The  prospect  of  Swallow  and  his  feeble,  overdressed  wife,  and 
his  comrade's  urgency,  decided  Woodburn.  He  said,  "Yes,  if 
Mr.  Swallow  will  excuse  me." 

Swallow  said,  "  Oh,  of  course ! "  relieved  to  be  rid  of  a  dis 
satisfied  client,  and  the  two  ex-soldiers  went  away  together  chat 
ting  of  West  Point  life. 


WESTWAYS  171 

Half-way  up  the  avenue  Penhallow  said,  "  Before  we  go  in,  a 
word  or  two — " 

"What  is  it,  Jim?" 

"  That  fellow  said  nothing  of  Mrs.  Penhallow,  you  are  sure  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  returned  Woodburn,  "  not  a  word.  I  knew  that  you 
lived  here,  but  neither  of  you  nor  of  Mrs.  Penhallow  did  he  say 
a  word  in  connection  with  this  business.  I  meant  to  look  you 
up  this  afternoon.  Why  do  you  speak  of  your  wife  ?  " 

"  Because  —  well  —  I  could  not  let  you  join  us  without  an 
honest  word  concerning  what  I  was  sure  you  would  have  heard 
from  Swallow.  Now  if  you  had  taken  what  I  presume  was  his 
advice  —  to  punish  the  people  concerned  in  warning  Josiah, 
you  —  indeed  I  —  might  hesitate — " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Jim  ? "  said  his  companion  much 
amazed. 

"  I  mean  this :  After  our  loose-tongued  friend  Grey  told 
my  wife  that  Josiah  was  in  danger,  she  sent  him  word  of  the 
risk  he  ran,  and  then  drew  out  of  our  bank  for  him  his  savings 
and  enabled  him  to  get  away.  Now  don't  say  a  word  until  I 
have  done.  Listen !  This  man  turned  up  here  over  three  years 
ago  and  was  soon  employed  about  my  stables.  He  broke  his 
leg  in  stopping  a  runaway  and  saved  my  wife's  young  niece,  our 
adopted  child,  Leila  Grey.  There  was  some  other  kind  and  ef 
ficient  service.  That  's  all.  Now,  can  you  dine  with  me  ?  " 

"  With  all  my  heart,  Jim.     Damn  Grey !     Did  he  talk  much  ?  " 

"  Did  he  ?     No,  he  gabbled.     But  are  you  satisfied  ?  " 

<e  Yes,  Jim.  I  am  sorry  I  drove  off  your  barber  —  and  I 
shall  hold  my  tongue  when  I  get  home  —  as  far  as  I  can." 

"Then  come.  I  have  some  of  my  father's  Madeira,  if  Grey 
has  left  any.  I  shall  say  a  word  to  Mrs.  Penhallow.  By 
George !  I  am  glad  to  have  you." 

Penhallow  showed  Woodburn  to  a  room,  and  feeling  relieved 
and  even  elated,  found  his  wife,  who  had  tired  of  waiting  and 
had  gone  to  get  ready  to  dine.  He  told  her  in  a  few  words 


172  WESTWAYS 

enough  to  set  her  at  ease  with  the  new  guest.  Then  Mark 
Rivers  came  in  and  John  Penhallow,  who  having  heard  about 
the  stranger's  errand  was  puzzled  when  he  became  aware  of  the 
cordial  relations  of  his  uncle  and  Mr.  Woodburn. 

The  dinner  was  pleasant  and  unembarrassed.  The  lad  whom 
events  had  singularly  matured  listened  to  gay  memories  of  West 
Point  and  to  talk  of  cadets  whose  names  were  to  live  in  history 
or  who  had  been  distinguished  in  our  unrighteous  war  with 
Mexico.  When  now  and  then  the  talk  became  quite  calmly  po 
litical,  Ann  listened  to  the  good-natured  debate  and  was  long 
ing  to  speak  her  mind.  She  was,  however,  wisely  silent,  and  re 
flected  half  amused  that  she  had  lost  the  right  to  express  her 
self  on  the  question  which  was  making  politics  ill-tempered  but 
was  now  being  discussed  at  her  table  with  such  well-bred 
courtesy.  John  soon  ceased  to  follow  the  wandering  talk,  and 
feeling  what  for  him  had  the  charm  of  romance  in  the  flight  of 
Josiah  sat  thinking  over  the  scene  of  the  warning  at  night,  the 
scared  fugitive  in  the  cabin,  and  the  lonely  voyage  down  through 
the  darkness  of  the  rapids  of  the  river.  Where  would  the  man 
go?  Would  they  ever  see  him  again?  They  were  to  meet  in 
far-away  days  and  in  hours  far  more  perilous.  Then  he  was 
caught  once  more  by  gay  stories  of  adventures  on  the  plains  and 
memories  of  Indian  battles,  until  the  wine  had  been  drunk  and 
the  Squire  took  his  friend  to  the  library  for  an  hour. ' 


CHAPTER  XI 

PENHALLOW  himself  drove  his  guest  to  meet  the  night  ex- 
press  to  the  East,  and  well  pleased  with  his  day  returned 
to  find  his  wife  talking  with  Rivers  and  John.  He  sat  down 
with  them  at  the  fire  in  the  hall,  saying,  "  I  wanted  to  keep 
Woodburn  longer,  but  he  was  wise  not  to  stay.  What  are  you 
two  talking  over  —  you  were  laughing  ?  " 

"  I,"  said  Rivers,  "  was  hearing  how  that  very  courteous 
gentleman  chanced  to  dine  with  these  mortal  enemies  who  stole 
his  property.  I  kept  quiet,  Mrs.  Penhallow  said  nothing,  John 
ate  his  dinner,  and  no  one  quarrelled.  I  longed  for  Mr. 
Grey—  " 

"  For  shame,"  said  Mrs.  Ann.  "  Tell  him  why  we  were 
laughing  —  it  was  at  nothing  particular." 

"It  was  about  poor  old  Mrs.  Burton." 

"What  about  her?  If  you  can  make  that  widow  interesting 
in  any  way,  I  shall  be  grateful." 

"  It  was  about  her  dead  husband  — " 

"  Am  I  to  hear  it  or  not ?  "  said  Penhallow.     "  What  is  it?  " 

"  Why,  what  she  said  was  that  she  was  more  than  ever  con 
firmed  in  her  belief  in  special  Providences,  because  Malcolm 
was  so  fond  of  tomatoes,  and  this  year  of  his  death  not  one  of 
their  tomatoes  ripened." 

The  Squire's  range  of  enjoyment  of  the  comic  had  limita 
tions,  but  this  story  was  immensely  enjoyed  and  to  his  taste. 
He  laughed  in  his  hearty  way.  "  Did  she  tell  you  that,  Mark, 
or  has  it  improved  in  your  hands  ?  " 

"  No  —  no,  I  got  it  from  Grace,  and  he  had  it  from  the 
widow.  I  do  not  think  it  seemed  the  least  bit  funny  to  Grace." 

173 


174  WESTWAYS 

"  But  after  all,"  said  Mrs.  Ann,  "  is  it  so  very  comic  ?  " 

"  Oh,  now/'  said  Penhallow,  "  we  are  in  for  a  "discussion  on 
special  Providences.  I  can't  stand  it  to-night;  I  want  some 
thing  more  definite.  My  manager  says  sometimes,  '  I  want  to 
close  out  this-here  business.'  Now  I  want  to  close  out  this 
abominable  business  about  my  poor  Josiah.  You  and  your  aunt, 
John,  have  been,  as  you  may  know,  breaking  the  law  of  your 
country  — " 

Eivers,  surprised  and  still  partially  ignorant,  looked  from  one 
to  another. 

"  Oh,  James !  "  remonstrated  his  wife,  not  overpleased. 

"  Wait  a  little,  my  dear  Ann.  Now,  John,  I  want  to  hear 
precisely  how  you  gave  Josiah  a  warning  and  —  well  —  all  the 
rest.  You  ought  to  know  that  my  little  lady  did  as  usual  the 
right  thing.  The  risks  and  whatever  there  might  have  been  of 
danger  were  ours  by  right  —  a  debt  paid  to  a  poor  runaway  who 
had  made  us  his  friends.  Now,  John !  " 

Rivers  watched  his  pupil  with  the  utmost  interest.  John 
stood  up  a  little  excited  by  this  unexpected  need  to  confess.  He 
leaned  against  the  side  of  the  mantel  and  said,  "  Well,  you  see, 
Uncle  Jim,  I  got  in  at  the  back  — " 

"  I  don't  see  at  all.  I  want  to  be  made  to  see  —  I  want  the 
whole  story." 

John  had  in  mind  that  he  had  done  a  rather  fine  thing  and 
ought  to  relate  it  as  lightly  as  he  had  heard  Woodburn  tell  of 
furious  battles  with  Apaches.  But,  as  his  uncle  wanted  the 
whole  story,  he  must  have  some  good  reason,  and  the  young  fel 
low  was  honestly  delighted.  Standing  by  the  fire,  watched  by 
three  people  who  loved  him,  and  above  all  by  the  Captain,  his 
ideal  of  what  he  felt  he  himself  could  never  be,  John  Penhal- 
low  told  of  his  entrance  to  Josiah's  room  and  of  his  thought  of 
the  cabin  as  a  hiding-place.  When  he  hesitated,  Penhallow 
said,  "  Oh,  don't  leave  out,  John  Penhallow,  I  want  all  the  de 
tails.  I  have  my  reasons,  John." 


WESTWAYS  175 

Flushed  and  handsome,  with  his  strong  young  face  above  the 
figure  which  was  to  have  his  uncle's  athletic  build,  he  related  his 
story  to  the  close.  As  he  told  of  the  parting  with  the  frightened 
fugitive  and  the  hunted  man's  last  blessing,  he  was  affected  as 
he  had  not  been  at  the  time.  "  That 's  all,  Uncle  Jim.  It  was 
too  bad  —  and  he  will  never  come  back." 

"  He  could,"  said  Eivers. 

"Yes  —  but  he  will  not.  I  know  the  man,"  said  Penhal- 
low.  "  He  has  the  courage  of  the  minute,  but  the  timidity  of 
the  slave.  We  shall  see  him  no  more,  I  fear." 

The  little  group  around  the  fire  fell  to  silence,  and  John  sat 
down.  He  wanted  a  word  of  approval,  and  got  it.  "I  want 
you  to  know,  John,"  said  Penhallow,  "  that  I  think  you  behaved 
with  courage  and  discretion.  It  was  not  an  errand  for  a  boy, 
but  no  man  could  have  done  better,  and  your  aunt  had  no  one 
else.  I  am  glad  she  had  not." 

Then  John  Penhallow  felt  that  he  was  shaky  and  that  his 
eyes  were  uncomfortably  filling.  With  a  boy's  dislike  of  show 
ing  emotion,  he  mastered  his  feelings  and  said,  "  Thank  you, 
Uncle  Jim." 

"  That  is  all,"  said  the  Squire,  who  too  saw  and  compre 
hended  what  he  saw,  "  go  to  bed,  you  breaker  of  the  law  — " 

"  And  I,"  said  Ann,  "  a  wicked  partner.     Come,  John." 

They  left  the  master  of  the  house  with  the  rector.  Eivers 
looked  at  the  clock,  "  I  think  I  must  go.  I  do  not  stand  late 
hours.  If  I  let  the  day  capture  the  night,  the  day  after  is  apt 
to  find  me  dull." 

"  Well,  stand  it  this  once,  Mark.  I  hate  councils  of  war  or 
peace  without  the  pipe,  and  now,  imagine  it,  my  dear  wife 
wanted  me  to  smoke,  and  that  was  all  along  of  that  terrible 
spittoon  and  the  long-expected  cousin  of  whom  I  have  heard 
from  time  to  time.  Les  absens  n'ont  pas  toujours  tort.  Now 
smoke  and  don't  watch  the  clock.  I  said  this  abominable  busi 
ness  was  to  be  closed  out — " 


176  WESTWAYS 

"And  is  it  not?"  asked  Rivers. 

"  No.  I  do  not  talk  about  Peter  Lamb  to  my  wife,  because 
she  thinks  my  helping  him  so  often  has  done  the  man  more  harm 
than  good.  It  was  not  Grey  alone  who  was  responsible.  He 
told  Mrs.  Penhallow  that  Peter  had  sent  him  to  Josiah's  shop. 
He  told  Grey  too  that  Josiah  must  be  a  runaway  slave  and  that 
any  one  would  know  him  by  his  having  lost  two  fingers.  That 
at  once  set  Grey  on  this  mischievous  track." 

"  I  am  only  too  sure  that  you  are  right,"  returned  Rivers. 
"  Peter  tried  a  very  futile  blackmailing  trick  on  Josiah.  He 
wanted  to  get  whisky,  and  told  the  poor  negro  that  he  must  get 
it  for  him  or  he  would  let  his  master  know  where  he  was.  Of 
course,  the  scamp  knew  what  we  all  knew  and  no  more,  but  it 
alarmed  Josiah,  who  came  to  me  at  once.  He  was  like  a  scared 
child.  I  told  him  to  go  home  and  that  Peter  had  lied.  He 
went  away  looking  as  if  the  old  savagery  in  his  blood  might  be 
come  practically  active." 

"I  don't  wonder,"  said  Penhallow.     "Did  it  end  there?" 

"  No,  I  saw  Peter  next  day,  and  he  of  course  lied  to  me  very 
cleverly,  said  it  was  only  a  joke  on  Josiah,  and  so  on.  I  think, 
sir,  and  you  will  I  hope  excuse  me  —  I  do  think  that  the  man 
were  better  let  alone.  Every  time  you  help  him,  he  gets  worse. 
When  he  was  arrested  and  suspected  of  burning  Robert's  hay 
rick,  you  pleaded  with  the  old  farmer  and  got  the  man  off. 
He  boasted  of  it  the  next  time  he  got  drunk." 

"  I  know  —  I  know."  The  Squire  had  paid  Robert's  loss, 
and  aware  of  his  own  folly  was  of  no  mind  to  confess  to  any 
one.  "  I  have  no  wish  or  will  to  help  him.  I  mean  now  to 
drop  him  altogether,  and  I  must  tell  him  so.  But  what  a  pity 
it  is !  He  is  intelligent,  and  was  a  good  carpenter  until  he  be 
gan  to  drink.  I  must  talk  to  him." 

"  You  will  only  make  him  more  revengeful.  He  has  what  he 
calls  ( got  even '  with  Josiah,  and  he  is  capable  of  doing  it  with 
you  or  me.  Let  him  alone." 


WESTWAYS  177 

"Not  I,"  said  the  Squire;  "if  only  for  his  mother's  sake,  I 
must  see  what  I  can  do." 

"Useless  —  quite  useless,"  said  Eivers.  "You  may  think 
that  strange  advice  for  a  clergyman,  but  I  do  sometimes 
despair  of  others  and  occasionally  of  Mark  Eivers.  Good 
night." 

During  these  days  the  fugitive  floated  down  the  swift  little 
river  at  night,  and  at  dawn  hid  his  frail  boat  and  himself  in 
the  forests  of  a  thinly  settled  land.  He  was  brave  enough,  but 
his  ignorance  of  geography  added  to  his  persistent  terror.  On 
the  third  day  the  broader  waters  brought  him  to  farms  and 
houses.  Then  he  left  his  boat  and  struck  out  across  the  coun 
try  until  he  came  to  a  railway.  In  the  station  he  made  out  that 
it  led  to  Philadelphia.  Knowing  that  he  would  be  safe  there, 
he  bought  a  ticket  and  arrived  in  the  city  the  next  day  —  a  free 
man  with  money,  intelligence,  and  an  honest  liking  for  steady 
work. 

The  Squire  had  the  good  habit  of  second  thought.  His  wife 
knew  it  well  and  had  often  found  it  valuable  and  to  be  trusted. 
At  present  he  was  thoroughly  disgusted  with  the  consequences 
of  what  he  knew  to  be  in  some  degree  the  result  of  his  own 
feeling  that  he  was  bound  to  care  for  the  man  whose  tie  to  him 
was  one  few  men  would  have  considered  as  in  any  serious  de 
gree  obligatory.  The  night  brought  good  counsel,  and  he  made 
up  his  mind  next  morning  simply  to  let  the  foster-brother 
alone.  Fate  decreed  otherwise.  In  the  morning  he  was  asked 
by  his  wife  to  go  with  her  to  the  village;  she  wanted  some  ad 
vice.  He  did  not  ask  what,  but  said,  "  Of  course.  I  am  to 
try  the  barber's  assistant  I  have  brought  from  the  mills  to 
shave  me,  and  what  is  more  important  —  Westways.  I  have 
put  him  in  our  poor  old  Josiah's  shop." 

They  went  together  to  Pole's,  and  returning  she  stopped  be 
fore  the  barn-like  building  where  Grace  gathered  on  Sundays 


178  WESTWAYS 

a  scant  audience  to  hear  the  sermons  which  Rivers  had  told  him 
had  too  much  heart  and  too  little  head. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Penhallow. 

"I  have  heard,  James,  that  their  chapel  (she  never  called  it 
church)  is  leaking  —  the  roof,  I  mean.  Could  not  you  pay  for 
a  new  roof  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  my  dear  —  of  course.  It  can't  cost  much.  I 
will  see  Grace  about  it." 

"Thank  you,  James."  On  no  account  would  she  now  have 
done  this  herself.  She  was  out  of  touch  for  the  time  with  the 
whole  business  of  politics,  and  to  have  indulged  her  usual  gentle 
desire  to  help  others  would  have  implied  obligation  on  the  part 
of  the  Baptist  to  accept  her  wish  that  he  should  vote  and  use 
his  influence  for  Buchanan.  Now  the  thing  would  be  done 
without  her  aid.  In  time  her  desire  to  see  the  Democrats  win 
in  the  interest  of  her  dear  South  would  revive,  but  at  present 
what  with  Grey  and  the  threat  of  the  practical  application  of 
the  Fugitive-Slave  Act  and  her  husband's  disgust,  she  was  dis 
posed  to  let  politics  alone. 

Presently,  as  they  walked  on,  Peter  Lamb  stopped  them. 
"  I  ?d  like  to  speak  to  you  for  a  moment,  Mr.  Penhallow."  Mrs. 
Penhallow  walked  on. 

"What  is  it?"  said  the  Squire. 

"  I  'm  all  right  now  —  I  '11  never  drink  again.  I  want  some 
work  —  and  mother  's  sick." 

"We  will  see  to  her,  but  you  get  no  more  work  from  me." 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  sir?" 

"Matter!  You  might  ask  Josiah  if  he  were  here.  You 
know  well  enough  what  you  did  —  and  now  I  am  done  with 
you." 

"  So  help  me  God,  I  never—" 

"  Oh !  get  out  of  my  way.  You  are  a  miserable,  lying,  un 
grateful  man,  and  I  have  done  with  you." 


WESTWAYS  179 

He  walked  away  conscious  of  having  again  lost  his  temper, 
which  was  rare.  The  red-faced  man  he  left  stood  still,  his  lips 
parted,  the  large  yellow  teeth  showing.  "  It 's  that  damned 
parson/'  he  said. 

Penhallow  rejoined  his  wife.  "What  did  he  want?"  she 
asked. 

"Oh,  work,"  he  said.  "I  told  him  he  could  get  no  more 
from  me." 

"  Well,  James,"  she  said,  "  that  is  the  first  sensible  thing  you 
have  ever  done  about  that  man.  You  have  thoroughly  spoiled 
him,  and  now  it  is  very  likely  too  late  to  discipline  him." 

"Yes  —  perhaps  —  you  may  be  right."  He  knew  her  to  be 
right,  but  he  did  not  like  her  agreement  with  his  decision  to 
be  connected  with  even  her  mild  statement  that  it  had  been 
better  if  long  before  he  had  been  more  reasonably  severe  and 
treated  Lamb  as  others  would  have  treated  him.  In  the  minor 
affairs  of  life  Ann  Penhallow  used  the  quick  perception  of  a 
woman,  and  now  and  then  brought  the  Squire's  kindly  excesses 
to  the  bar  of  common  sense.  Sometimes  the  sentence  was  never 
announced,  but  now  and  then  annoyed  at  his  over-indulgent 
charity  she  allowed  her  impatience  the  privilege  of  speech,  and 
then,  as  on  this  occasion,  was  sorry  to  have  spoken. 

Dismissing  his  slight  vexation,  Penhallow  said  presently,  "  He 
told  me  his  mother  was  sick." 

"  She  was  not  yesterday.  I  took  her  our  monthly  allowance 
and  some  towels  I  wanted  hemmed  and  marked.  He  lied  to  you, 
James.  Did  you  believe  him  even  for  a  moment  ?  " 

"  But  she  might  be  sick,  Ann.  I  meant  you  to  stop  and 
ask." 

"I  will,  of  course."  This  time  she  held  her  tongue,  and 
left  him  at  Grace's  door. 

The  perfect  sweetness  of  her  husband's  generous  tempera 
ment  was  sometimes  trying  to  Ann  in  its  results,  but  now  it 


180  WESTWAYS 

had  helped  her  out  of  an  awkward  position,  and  with  pride  and 
affection  she  watched  his  soldierly  figure  for  a  moment  and  then 
went  on  her  way. 

Intent  with  gladness  on  fulfilling  his  wife's  errand,  he  went 
up  the  steps  of  the  small  two-storey  house  of  the  Baptist 
preacher.  He  had  difficulty  in  making  any  one  hear  where 
there  was  no  one  to  hear.  If  at  Westways  the  use  of  the  rare 
bells  or  more  common  knockers  brought  no  one  to  the  door,  you 
were  free  to  walk  in  and  cry,  "  Where  are  you,  Amanda  Jane,  and 
shall  I  come  right  up  ?  "  Penhallow  had  never  set  foot  in  the 
house,  but  had  no  hesitation  in  entering  the  front  room  close  to 
the  narrow  hall  which  was  known  as  the  front  entry.  The  de 
tails  of  men's  surroundings  did  not  usually  interest  Penhallow, 
but  in  the  mills  or  the  far  past  days  of  military  service  noth 
ing  escaped  him  that  could  be  of  use  in  the  work  of  the  hour. 
The  stout  little  Baptist  preacher,  with  his  constant  every-day 
jollity  and  violent  sermons,  of  which  he  had  heard  from  Eivers, 
in  no  way  interested  Penhallow.  When  he  once  said  to  Ann, 
"  The  man  is  unneat  and  common/'  she  replied,  "  No,  he  is 
homely,  but  neither  vulgar  nor  common.  I  hate  his  emotional 
performances,  but  the  man  is  good,  James/'  "  Then  I  do  wish, 
Ann,  he  would  button  his  waistcoat  and  pull  up  his  socks." 

Now  he  looked  about  him  with  some  unusual  attention. 
There  was  no  carpet.  A  set  of  oddly  coloured  chairs  and 
settees  which  would  have  pleased  Ann,  a  square  mahogany  table 
set  on  elephantine  legs,  completed  the  furnishings  of  a  white 
washed  room,  where  the  flies,  driven  indoors  by  cool  weather, 
buzzed  on  window  glasses  dull  with  dust.  The  back  room  had 
only  a  writing-table,  a  small  case  of  theological  books,  and  two  or 
three  much  used  volumes  of  American  history.  Penhallow 
looked  around  him  with  unusually  awakened  pity.  The 
gathered  dust,  the  battered  chairs,  the  spider-webs  in  the  darker 
corners,  would  have  variously  annoyed  and  disgusted  Ann  Pen 
hallow.  A  well-worn  Bible  lay  on  the  table,  with  a  ragged  vol' 


WESTWAYS  181 

ume  of  "  Hiawatha  "  and  "  Bunyan's  Holy  War."  There  were 
no  other  books.  This  form  of  poverty  piteously  appealed  to  him. 

"  By  George !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  that  is  sad.  The  man  is  book- 
poor.  Ann  must  have  that  library.  I  will  ask  him  to  use 
mine."  As  he  stood  still  in  thought,  he  heard  steps,  and  turned 
to  meet  Dr.  McGregor. 

"  Come  to  see  Grace,  sir  ?  "  said  the  doctor. 

"Yes,  I  came  about  a  little  business,  but  there  seems  to  be 
no  one  in." 

"  Grace  is  in  bed  and  pretty  sick  too." 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

"  Oh,  had  a  baptism  in  the  river  —  stood  too  long  in  the 
water  and  got  chilled.  It  has  happened  before.  Come  up  and 
see  him  — he '11  like  it." 

The  Squire  hesitated  and  then  followed  the  doctor.  "Who 
cares  for  him  ?  "  he  asked  as  they  moved  up  the  stairs. 

"  Oh,  his  son.  Eather  a  dull  lad,  but  not  a  bad  fellow.  He 
has  no  servant  —  cooks  for  himself.  Ever  try  it,  Squire?" 

"I  —  often.     But  what  a  life !  " 

The  stout  little  clergyman  lay  on  a  carved  four-post  bedstead 
of  old  mahogany,  which  seemed  to  hint  of  better  days.  The 
ragged  patch-work  quilt  over  him  told  too  of  busy  woman- 
hands  long  dead.  The  windows  were  closed,  the  air  was  sick 
(as  McGregor  said  later),  and  there  was  the  indescribable  com 
posite  odour  which  only  the  sick  chamber  of  poverty  knows. 
The  boy,  glad  to  escape,  went  out  as  they  entered. 

Grace  sat  up.  "  Now,"  he  said  cheerfully,  "  this  is  real  good 
of  you  to  come  and  see  me !  Take  a  seat,  sir." 

The  chairs  were  what  the  doctor  once  described  as  non-sit- 
able,  and  wabbled  as  they  sat  down. 

"  You  are  better,  I  see,  Grace,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I  fetched 
up  the  Squire  for  a  consultation." 

"  Yes,  I  'm  near  about  right."  He  had  none  of  the  common 
feeling  of  the  poor  that  he  must  excuse  his  surroundings  to 


182  WESTWAYS 

these  richer  visitors,  nor  any  least  embarrassment.  "  It 's  good 
to  see  some  one,  Mr.  Penhallow." 

"I  come  on  a  pleasant  errand,"  said  Penhallow.  "We  will 
talk  it  over  and  then  leave  you  to  the  doctor.  Mrs.  Penhallow 
wants  me  to  roof  your  church.  I  came  to  say  to  you  that  I 
shall  do  it  with  pleasure.  You  will  lose  the  use  of  it  for  one 
Sunday  at  least." 

"  Thank  you,  Squire,"  said  Grace  simply.  "  That  's  real  good 
medicine." 

"  I  will  see  to  it  at  once." 

The  doctor  opened  a  window,  and  Penhallow  drew  a  grateful 
breath  of  fresh  air. 

"Don't  go,  sir,"  said  Grace.  The  Squire  sat  down  again 
while  McGregor  went  through  his  examination  of  the  sick  man. 
Then  he  too  rose  to  leave. 

"  Must  you  go  ?  "  said  Grace.  "  It  is  such  a  pleasure  to  see 
some  one  from  the  outside."  The  doctor  smiled  and  lingered. 

"  I  suppose,  Squire,  you  '11  get  Joe  Boynton,  the  carpenter,  to 
put  on  the  roof?  He's  one  of  my  flock." 

"Yes,"  said  Penhallow,  "but  he  will  want  to  put  his  old 
workman,  Peter  Lamb,  on  the  job,  and  I  have  no  desire  to  help 
that  man  any  further.  He  gives  his  mother  nothing,  and  every 
cent  he  makes  goes  for  drink." 

McGregor  nodded  approval,  but  wondered  why  at  last  the 
Squire's  unfailing  good-nature  had  struck  for  higher  wages 
of  virtue  in  the  man  he  had  ruined  by  kindness. 

"  I  try  to  keep  work  in  Westways,"  said  Penhallow.  "  Joe 
shall  roof  the  chapel,  and  like  as  not  Peter  will  be  too  drunk 
to  help.  I  can't  quite  make  it  a  condition  with  Joe  that  he 
shall  not  employ  Peter,  but  I  should  like  to."  McGregor's  face 
grew  smiling  at  Penhallow's  conclusion  when  he  added,  "  I  hope 
he  may  get  work  elsewhere."  Then  the  Squire  went  downstairs 
with  the  doctor,  exchanging  brevities  of  talk. 

"  Are  you  aware,  Penhallow,  that  this  wicked  business  about 


WESTWAYS  183 

Josiah  has  beaten  Buchanan  in  Westways?  Come  to  apply  the 
Fugitive- Slave  Act  and  people  won't  stand  it.  As  long  as  it 
was  just  a  matter  of  newspaper  discussion  Westways  did  n't  feel 
it,  but  when  it  drove  away  our  barber,  Westways's  conscience 
woke  up  to  feel  how  wicked  it  was." 

The  Squire  had  had  an  illustration  nearer  home  and  kept 
thinking  of  it  as  he  murmured  monosyllabic  contributions  while 
the  doctor  went  on  — "  My  own  belief  is  that  if  the  Novem 
ber  election  were  delayed  six  months,  Fremont  would  carry 
Pennsylvania." 

Penhallow  recovered  fuller  consciousness  and  returned,  "  I 
distrust  Fremont.  I  knew  him  in  the  West.  But  he  repre 
sents,  or  rather  he  stands  for,  a  party,  and  it  is  mine." 

"  I  am  glad  to  know  that,"  said  McGregor.  "  I  am  really 
glad.  It  is  a  relief  to  be  sure  about  a  man  like  you,  Penhallow. 
I  suppose  you  know  that  you  are  loved  in  the  county  as  no 
one  else  is." 

"Nonsense,"  exclaimed  the  Squire,  laughing,  but  not  ill- 
pleased. 

"  No,  I  am  serious ;  but  it  leads  up  to  this :  Am  I  free  to  say 
you  will  vote  the  Eepublican  ticket  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  yes  —  you  may  say  so." 

"  It  will  be  of  use,  but  could  n't  I  persuade  you  to  speak  at 
the  meeting  next  week  at  the  mills  ?  " 

t(  No,  McGregor.  That  is  not  in  my  line."  He  had  other 
reasons  for  refusal.  "  Let  us  drop  politics.  What  is  that  boy 
of  yours  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Study  medicine,"  he  says.  "  He  has  brains  enough,  and 
Mr.  Rivers  tells  me  he  is  studious.  Our  two  lads  fell  out,  it 
seems,  and  my  boy  got  the  worst  of  it.  What  I  don't  like  is 
that  he  has  not  made  up  with  John." 

"No,  that  is  bad;  but  boys  get  over  their  quarrels  in  time. 
However,  I  must  go.  If  I  can  be  of  any  use  to  Tom,  you  know 
that  I  am  at  your  service." 


184  WESTWAYS 

"  When  were  yon  not  at  everybody's  service  ?  "  said  the  doc 
tor,  and  they  went  out  through  the  hall. 

"  Good-bye/'  said  Penhallow,  but  the  doctor  stopped  him. 

"  Penhallow,  may  I  take  the  liberty  to  bother  you  with  a  bit 
of  unasked  advice  ?  " 

"  A  liberty,  nonsense !     What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  then  —  let  that  drunken  brute  Peter  alone.  You  said 
that  you  would  not  let  the  carpenter  use  him,  but  why  not? 
Then  you  hoped  he  would  get  work.  Let  him  alone." 

"  McGregor,  I  have  a  great  charity  for  a  drunkard's  son  — • 
and  the  rest  you  know." 

"Yes,  too  well." 

"  I  try  to  put  myself  in  his  place  —  with  his  inheritance  — " 

"  You  can't.  Nothing  is  more  kind  than  that  in  some  cases, 
and  nothing  more  foolish  in  others  or  in  this  — " 

"  Perhaps.     I  will  think  it  over,  Doctor.     Good-bye." 

Meanwhile  Grace  lay  in  bed  thoughtfully  considering  the 
situation.  While  her  husband  seemed  practically  inactive  in 
politics,  Mrs.  Penhallow  had  been  busy,  and  she  had  clearly 
hinted  that  the  roofing  of  the  chapel  might  depend  on  how 
Grace  used  his  large  influence  in  the  electoral  contest,  but  had 
said  nothing  very  definite.  He  was  well  aware,  however,  that 
in  his  need  for  help  he  had  bowed  a  little  in  the  House  of 
Eimmon.  Then  he  had  talked  with  Eivers  and  straightened 
up,  and  now  did  the  Squire's  offer  imply  any  pledge  on  his  own 
part?  While  he  tried  to  solve  this  problem,  Penhallow  reap 
peared. 

"  I  forgot  something,  Grace,"  he  said.  "  Mrs.  Penhallow  will 
send  Mrs.  Lamb  here  for  a  few  days,  and  some  —  oh,  some  little 
luxuries  —  ice  and  fresh  milk." 

The  Baptist  did  not  like  it.  Was  this  to  keep  him  in  the 
way  he  had  resolved  not  to  go.  "  Thank  you  and  her,"  he  re 
turned,  and  then  added  abruptly,  "  How  are  you  meaning  to 
vote,  Squire?" 


WBSTWAYS  185 

"  Oh,  for  Fremont/'  replied  Penhallow,  rather  puzzled. 

"  Well,  that  will  be  good  news  in  Westways."  It  was  to  him, 
too,  and  he  felt  himself  free.  "  Is  n't  Mrs.  Penhallow  rather  on 
the  other  side?" 

He  had  no  least  idea  that  the  question  might  be  regarded  as 
impertinent.  Penhallow  said  coldly,  "  My  wife  and  I  are  rather 
averse  to  talking  politics.  I  came  back  to  say  that  I  want 
you  to  feel  free  to  make  use  of  my  library  —  just  as  Eivers 
does." 

"  Now  that  will  be  good.  I  am  book-starved  except  for 
Rivers's  help.  Thank  you."  He  put  out  a  fat  hand  and  said, 
"  God  has  been  good  to  me  this  day ;  may  He  be  as  kind  to  you 
and  yours." 

The  Squire  went  his  way  wondering  what  the  deuce  the  man 
had  to  do  with  Ann  Penhallow's  politics. 

Mrs.  Lamb  took  charge  of  Grace,  and  Mrs.  Penhallow  saw 
that  he  was  well  supplied  and  gave  no  further  thought  to  the 
incorrigible  and  changeful  political  views  of  Westways. 

The  excitement  over  the  flight  of  Josiah  lessened,  and  West- 
ways  settled  down  to  the  ordinary  dull  routine  of  a  little  com 
munity  dependent  on  small  farmers  and  the  mill-men  who 
boarded  at  the  old  tavern  or  with  some  of  the  townspeople. 

The  forests  were  rapidly  changing  colour  except  where 
pine  and  spruce  stood  darkly  green  amid  the  growing 
magnificence  of  maple  and  oak.  It  was  the  intermediate  season 
in  which  were  neither  winter  nor  summer  sports,  and  John  Pen 
hallow  enjoying  the  pageant  of  autumn  rode  daily  or  took  long 
walks,  exploring  the  woods,  missing  Leila  and  giving  free  wing 
to  a  mind  which  felt  the  yearning,  never  to  be  satisfied,  to  trans 
late  into  human  speech  its  bird-song  of  enjoyment  of  nature. 

On  an  afternoon  in  mid- October  he  saw  Mr.  Rivers,  to  his 
surprise,  far  away  on  the  bank  of  the  river.  Well  aware  that 
the  clergyman  was  rarely  given  to  any  form  of  exercise  on  foot, 


186  WESTWAYS 

John  was  a  little  surprised  when  he  came  upon  the  tall,  stooping, 
pallid  man  with  what  Ann  Penhallow  called  the  "eloquent" 
eyes.  He  was  lying  on  the  bank  lazily  throwing  stones  into  the 
river.  As  John  broke  through  the  alders  and  red  willows  above 
him,  he  turned  at  the  sound  and  cried,  as  John  jumped  down 
the  bank,  "  Glad  to  see  you,  John !  I  have  been  trying  to  set 
tle  a  question  no  one  can  settle  to  the  satisfaction  of  others 
or  even  himself.  You  might  give  me  your  opinion  as  to  who 
wrote  the  Epistle  to  the  Hebrews.  Origen  gave  it  up,  and  Philo 
had  a  theory  about  Apollos,  and  there  is  Tertullian,  that 's  all 
any  fellow  knows ;  and  so  now  I  await  your  opinion.  What  no 
body  knows  about,  anybody's  opinion  is  good  about." 

John  laughed  as  he  said,  "  I  don't  think  I  '11  try." 

"  Did  you  ever  read  Hebrews,  John?     The  epistle  I  mean." 

"No." 

"  Then  don't  or  not  yet.  The  Bible  books  ought  to  be  read 
at  different  ages  of  a  man's  life.  I  could  arrange  them.  Your 
aunt  reads  to  you  or  with  you,  I  believe  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  Acts  just  now,  sir.  She  makes  it  so  clear  and  inter 
esting  that  it  seems  as  if  all  might  have  happened  now  to  some 
missionaries  somewhere." 

"  That  is  an  art.  Some  of  the  Bible  stories  require  such  help 
to  make  them  seem  real  to  modern  folk.  How  does,  or  how  did, 
Leila  take  Mrs.  Ann's  teachings  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Leila,"  he  replied,  as  he  began  to  pitch  pebbles  in  the 
little  river,  "Leila  —  wriggled.  You  know,  she  really  can't 
keep  quiet,  Mr.  Rivers." 

"  Yes,  I  know  well  enough.  But  did  what  interested  you  in 
terest  Leila?" 

"  No  —  no,  indeed,  sir.  It  troubled  Aunt  Ann  because  she 
could  not  make  her  see  things.  Usually  at  night  before  bed 
time  we  read  some  of  the  Gospels,  and  then  once  a  week  Acts. 
Every  now  and  then  Leila  would  sit  still  and  ask  such  queer 
questions  —  about  people." 


WESTWAYS  187 

"  What  kind  of  questions,  John  ?  "  He  was  interested  and 
curious. 

"  Oh,  about  Peter's  mother  and  —  I  forget  —  oh,  yes,  once  — 
I  remember  that  because  aunt  did  not  like  it  and  I  really 
could  n't  see  why." 

"Well,  what  was  it?" 

"  She  wanted  to  know  if  Christ's  brothers  ever  were  married 
and  if  they  had  children." 

"  Did  she,  indeed !     Well  —  well !  " 

"Aunt  Ann  asked  her  why  she  wanted  to  know  that,  and 
Leila  said  it  was  because  she  was  thinking  how  Christ  must  have 
loved  them,  and  maybe  that  was  why  He  was  so  fond  of  little 
children.  Now,  I  could  n't  have  thought  that." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Elvers.  "  She  will  care  more  for  people  — 
oh,  many  people  —  and  by  and  by  for  things,  events  and  the 
large  aspects  of  life,  but  she  is  as  yet  undeveloped." 

John  was  clear  that  he  did  not  want  her  to  like  many  people, 
but  he  was  inclined  to  keep  this  to  himself  and  merely  said,  "  I 
don't  quite  understand." 

"  No,  perhaps  I  was  a  little  vague.  Leila  is  at  the  puzzling 
age.  You  will  find  her  much  altered  in  a  year." 

"  I  won't  like  that." 

"Well,  perhaps  not.  But  you  too  have  changed  a  good  deal 
since  you  came.  You  were  a  queer  young  prig." 

"  I  was  —  I  was  indeed." 

Then  they  were  silent  a  while.  John  thought  of  his  mother 
who  had  left  him  to  the  care  of  tutors  and  schools  while  she 
led  a  wandering,  unhappy,  invalid  life.  He  remembered  the 
Alps  and  the  spas  and  her  fretful  care  of  his  very  good  health, 
and  then  the  delight  of  being  free  and  surrounded  with  all  a 
boy  desires,  and  at  last  Leila  and  the  wonderful  hair  on  the 
snow-drift. 

"Look  at  the  leaves,  John,"  said  Eivers.  "What  fleets  of 
red  and  gold !  " 


188  WESTWAYS 

"  I  wonder/'  said  John,  "  how  far  they  will  drift,  and  if  any 
of  them  will  ever  float  to  the  sea.  It  is  a  long  way." 

"  Yes/'  returned  Elvers,  "  and  so  we  too  are  drifting." 

"  Oh,  no,  sir/'  said  John,  with  the  confidence  of  youth, 
"we  are  not  drifting,  we  are  sailing  —  not  just  like  the  leaves 
anywhere  the  waves  take  them." 

"  More  or  less,"  added  Eivers  moodily,  "  more  or  less." 

He  looked  at  the  boy  as  he  spoke,  conscious  of  a  nature  un 
like  his  own.  Then  he  laughed  outright.  "You  may  be  sure 
we  are  a  good  deal  hustled  by  circumstances  —  like  the  leaves." 

"  I  should  prefer  to  hustle  circumstances,"  replied  John 
gaily,  and  again  the  rector  studied  the  young  face  and  wondered 
what  life  had  in  store  for  this  resolute  nature. 

"  Come,  let  us  go.  I  have  walked  too  far  for  me,  I  am  over 
tired,  John." 

What  it  felt  to  be  overtired,  John  hardly  knew.  He  said,  "  I 
know  a  short  cut,  eater-cornered  across  the  new  clearing." 

As  they  walked  homeward,  Rivers  said,  "What  do  you  want 
to  do,  John?  You  are  more  than  fit  for  the  university  —  you 
should  be  thinking  about  it." 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"  Would  you  like  to  be  a  clergyman  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  John  decisively. 

"  Or  a  lawyer,  or  a  doctor  like  Tom  McGregor  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  —  I  have  not  thought  about  it  much,  but  I 
might  like  to  go  to  West  Point." 

"  Indeed ! " 

"Yes,  but  I  am  not  sure." 


CHAPTER  XII 

WHEN"  John  was  eager  to  hear  what  Leila  wrote,  his  aunt 
laughed  and  said,  "  As  you  know,  there  is  always  a  word 
of  remembrance  for  you,  but  her  letters  would  hardly  interest 
you.  They  are  about  the  girls  and  the  teachers  and  new  gowns. 
Write  to  her  —  I  will  enclose  it,  but  you  need  expect  no  an 
swer." 

That  Leila  should  have  acquired  interest  in  gowns  seemed  to 
him  unlike  that  fearless  playmate.  He  learned  that  the  rules 
of  the  school  forbade  the  writing  of  letters  except  to  parents  and 
near  relatives.  He  was  now  to  write  to  Leila  the  first  letter 
he  had  written  since  his  laborious  epistles  to  his  mother  when 
at  school.  His  compositions  seemed  to  Rivers  childlike  long 
after  he  showed  notable  competence  in  speech. 

"  DEAR  LEILA  :  It  is  very  hard  that  you  cannot  write  to  me. 
We  are  all  well  here  except  Lucy,  who  is  lame.  It  isn't  very 
much. 

"  Of  course  you  have  heard  about  our  good  old  Josiah.  Is  n't 
that  slave  law  wicked  ?  Westways  is  angry  and  all  turned  round 
for  Fremont.  Mr.  Grace  has  been  ill,  and  Uncle  Jim  is  putting 
a  roof  on  his  chapel.  Josiah  left  me  his  traps  when  he  ran  away. 
He  meant  to  make  you  a  muskrat  skin  bag.  I  found  four  in  his 
traps,  and  I  have  caught  four  more,  and  when  Mrs.  Lamb  makes 
a  bag  of  them,  I  am  to  have  for  it  a  silver  clasp  which  belonged 
to  Great-grandmother  Penhallow.  No  girl  will  have  one  like 
that.  It  was  on  account  of  Josiah  the  town  will  not  vote  for 
Buchanan. 

"  I  wish  I  had  asked  you  for  a  lock  of  your  hair.  I  remem 
ber  how  it  looked  on  the  snow  when  Billy  upset  us." — 

189 


190  WESTWAYS 

He  had  found  his  letter-writing  hard  work,  and  let  it  alone  for 
a  time.  Before  he  finished  it,  he  had  more  serious  news  to  add. 

The  autumnal  sunset  of  the  year,  the  red  and  gold  of  maple, 
oak  and  sassafras,  was  new  to  the  boy  who  had  spent  so  many 
years  in  Europe,  and  more  wonderful  was  it  when  in  this  late 
October  on  the  uplands  there  fell  softly  upon  the  glowing  colours 
of  the  woods  a  light  covering  of  early  snow.  Once  seen  it  is  a 
spectacle  never  to  be  forgotten,  and  he  had  the  gift  of  being 
charmed  by  the  scenic  ingenuities  of  nature. 

The  scripture  reading  was  over  and  he  was  thinking  late  in 
the  evening  of  what  he  had  seen,  when  his  aunt  said,  "  Good 
night,  John  —  bed-time,"  and  went  up  the  stairway.  John  lay 
quiet,  with  closed  eyes,  seeing  the  sunlit  snow  lightly  dusted  on 
the  red  and  yellows  of  the  forest. 

About  eleven  his  uncle  came  from  the  library.  "  What,  you 
scamp  !  —  up  so  late !  I  meant  to  mail  this  letter  to-day ;  run 
down  and  mail  it.  It  ought  to  go  when  Billy  takes  the  letters 
to  Westways  Crossing  early  to-morrow.  I  will  wait  up  for  you. 
Now  use  those  long  legs  and  hurry." 

John  took  his  cap  and  set  off,  liking  the  run  over  the  snow, 
which  was  light  and  no  longer  falling.  He  raced  down  the  ave 
nue  and  climbed  the  gate,  thinking  of  Leila.  He  dropped  the 
letter  into  the  post-office  box,  and  decided  to  return  by  a  short 
way  through  the  Penhallow  woods  which  faced  the  town.  He 
moved  eastward,  climbed  the  fence,  and  stood  still.  He  was 
some  two  hundred  yards  from  the  parsonage.  His  attention  was 
arrested  by  a  dull  glow  behind  the  house.  He  ran  towards  it 
as  it  flared  upward  a  broad  rush  of  flame,  brilliantly  lighting 
the  expanse  of  snow  and  sending  long  prancing  shafts  of  shadow 
through  the  woods  as  it  struck  on  the  tall  spruces.  Shouting, 
"  Fire !  Fire !  "  John  came  nearer. 

The  large  store  of  dry  pine  and  birch  for,  winter-use  piled  in 
a  shed  against  the  back  of  Eivers's  house  was  burning  fiercely, 
with  that  look  of  ungoverned  fury  which  gives  such  an  expres- 


WESTWAYS  191 

sion  of  merciless,  personal  rage  to  a  great  fire.  The  terror  of  it 
at  first  possessed  the  lad,  who  was  shouting  himself  hoarse.  The 
flame  was  already  running  up  and  over  the  outer  planking  and 
curling  down  upon  the  thin  snow  of  the  shingled  roof  as  he  ran 
around  the  small  garden  and  saw  the  front  door  open  and  Eivers 
come  out.  The  rector  said,  "  It  is  gone,  John ;  I  will  go  for 
your  uncle.  Eun  over  to  the  Wayne  and  call  up  the  men.  Tell 
them  to  get  out  my  books  and  what  they  can,  but  to  run  no  risks. 
Quick,  now!  Wake  up  the  town." 

There  was  little  need,  for  some  one  at  the  inn  had  heard 
John's  cries.  In  a  few  minutes  the  village  was  awake  and  out 
of  doors  before  Penhallow  arriving  took  charge  and  scattered 
men  through  the  easily  lighted  pines,  in  some  dread  of  a  forest 
fire.  The  snow  on  the  floor  of  pine-needles  and  on  the  laden 
trees  was,  however,  as  he  soon  saw,  an  insurance  against  the  peril 
from  far-scattered  sparks,  and  happily  there  was  no  wind.  Lit 
tle  of  what  was  of  any  value  was  saved,  and  in  the  absence  of 
water  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  watch  the  fire  complete  its 
destructive  work. 

"  There  is  nothing  more  we  can  do,  Rivers,"  said  Penhallow. 
"John  was  the  first  to  see  it.  We  will  talk  about  it  to-morrow 
—  not  now  —  not  here." 

The  three  Grey  Pine  people  stood  apart  while  books  and 
clothes  and  little  else  were  carried  across  the  road  and  stored  in 
the  village  houses.  At  last  the  flames  rose  high  in  the  air  and 
for  a  few  minutes  as  the  roof  fell  in,  the  beauty  of  the  illumina 
tion  was  what  impressed  John  and  Eivers.  The  Squire  now 
and  then  gave  quick  orders  or  stood  still  in  thought.  At  last 
he  said  to  the  rector,  "  I  want  you  to  go  to  Grey  Pine,  call  up 
Mrs.  Penhallow  and  tell  her,  and  then  go  to  bed.  You  will  like 
to  stay  here  with  me,  John  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir."     The  Squire  walked  away  as  Rivers  left  them. 

"  Fine  sight,  ain't  it,  Mr.  John,"  said  Billy,  the  one  person 
who  enjoyed  the  fire. 


192  WESTWAYS 

"Yes/'  said  John,  absently  intent  on  the  red-lighted  snow 
spaces  and  the  gigantic  shadows  of  the  thinly  timbered  verge  of 
the  forest  as  they  were  and  were  not.  Then  there  was  a  moment 
of  alarm.  An  old  birch,  loosely  clad  with  dry,  ragged  bark  stood 
near  to  the  house.  A  flake  of  falling  fire  fell  on  it.  Instantly 
the  whole  trunk-cover  blazed  up  with  a  roar  like  that  of  a  great 
beast  in  pain.  It  was  sudden  and  for  the  instant  terrible,  but 
the  snow-laden  leaves  still  left  on  it  failed  to  take  fire,  and  what 
in  summer  would  have  been  a  calamity  was  at  an  end. 

"Gosh!"  exclaimed  Billy,  "didn't  he  howl?"  John  made 
no  reply. 

"  Could  n't  wake  Peter.  I  was  out  first."  He  had  liked  the 
fun  of  banging  at  the  doors.  "  Old  Woman  Lamb  said  she 
could  n't  wake  him." 

"  Drunk,  I  suppose,"  said  John  absently,  stamping  out  a  spark 
among  the  pine-needles  at  his  feet,  now  freed  from  snow  by  the 
heat. 

The  night  passed,  and  when  the  dawning  came,  the  Squire 
leaving  some  orders  went  homeward  with  John,  saying  only, 
"  Go  to  bed  at  once,  we  will  talk  about  it  later.  I  don't  like  it, 
John.  You  saw  it  first  —  where  did  it  begin  ?  " 

"  Outside,  sir,  in  the  wood-shed." 

"  Indeed !  There  has  been  some  foul  play.  Who  could  it 
have  been  ?  "  He  said  no  more. 

It  was  far  into  the  morning  when  John  awaking  found  thajt 
he  had  been  allowed  to  make  up  for  the  lost  sleep  of  the  past 
night.  His  aunt  smiling  greeted  him  with  a  kiss,  concerning 
which  there  is  something  to  be  said  in  regard  to  what  commen 
tary  the  assistant  features  make  upon  the  kiss.  "I  would  not 
have  you  called  earlier,"  she  said ;  "  but  now,  here  is  your  break 
fast,  you  have  earned  it."  She  sat  down  and  watched  the  dis 
appearance  of  a  meal  which  would  have  filled  his  mother  with 
anxiety.  Ann  was  really  enjoying  the  young  fellow's  whole 
some  appetite  and  contrasting  it  with  the  apprehensive  care  con- 


WESTWAYS  193 

cerning  food  he  had  shown  when  long  before  he  had  seemed  to 
her  husband  and  herself  a  human  problem  hard  to  solve.  James 
Penhallow  had  been  wise,  and  Leila  a  rough  and  efficient  school 
mistress.  "  Do  not  hurry,  John ;  have  another  cup  ?  " 

"  Yes,  please." 

"  Have  you  written  that  letter  ?  I  mean  to  be  naughty  enough 
to  enclose  it  to  Leila.  I  told  you  so." 

"  Yes,  but  it  is  not  quite  done,  and  now  I  must  tell  her  about 
the  fire.  I  wrote  her  that  Josiah  had  gone  away." 

"  The  less  of  it  the  better.  I  mean  about  —  well,  about  your 
warning  him  —  and  the  rest  —  your  share  and  mine." 

"  Of  course  not,  Aunt  Ann.  I  would  not  talk  about  myself. 
I  mean,  I  could  not  write  about  it." 

"  You  would  talk  of  it  if  she  were  here  —  you  would,  I  am 
sure." 

"  Yes,  that  's  different  —  I  suppose,  I  would,"  he  returned. 
She  was  struck  with  this  as  being  like  what  James  Penhallow 
would  have  said  and  have,  or  not  have,  done. 

"  If  you  have  finished,  John,  I  think  your  uncle  wants  you*" 

"  Why  did  n't  you  tell  me,  aunt  ?  "  he  said,  as  he  got  up  in 
haste. 

"  Oh,  boys  must  be  fed,"  she  cried.  She  too  rose  from  her 
seat,  and  went  around  the  table  and  kissed  him  again,  saying, 
"You  are  more  and  more  like  my  captain,  John." 

Being  a  woman,  as  John  was  well  aware,  not  given  to  express 
approval  of  what  were  merely  acts  of  duty,  he  was  surprised  at 
what  was,  for  her,  excess  of  praise;  nor  was  she  as  much  given 
to  kissing,  as  are  many  women.  The  lad  felt,  therefore,  that 
what  she  thus  said  and  did  was  unusual,  and  was  what  his  Uncle 
Jim  called  one  of  Ann's  rarely  conferred  brevets  of  affection. 

"  Yes,"  she  repeated,  "  you  are  like  him." 

"  What !     I  like  Uncle  Jim  !     I  wish  I  were." 

"Now  go,"  she  said,  giving  him  a  gentle  push.  She  was 
shyly  aware  of  a  lapse  into  unhabitual  emotion  and  of  some  closer 


194  WESTWAYS 

approach  to  the  maternal  relation  fostered  by  his  growing  re 
semblance  to  James  Penhallow. 

"  So,"  laughed  his  uncle  as  John  entered  the  library,  "  you 
have  burned  down  the  school  and  are  on  a  holiday  —  you  and 
Rivers." 

John  grinned.     "Yes,  sir." 

"  Sit  down.  We  are  discussing  that  fire.  You  were  the  first 
to  see  it,  John.  It  was  about  eleven — " 

"  Yes,  uncle,  it  struck  as  I  left  the  hall." 

"No  one  else  was  in  sight,  and  in  fact,  Rivers,  no  one  in 
Westways  is  out  of  bed  at  ten.  Both  you  and  John  are  sure  the 
fire  began  outside  where  the  wood  was  piled  under  a  shed." 

"Yes,"  said  Rivers.  "It  was  a  well  dried  winter  supply, 
birch  and  pine.  The  shed,  as  you  know,  was  alongside  of  the 
kitchen  door.  I  went  over  the  house  as  usual  about  nine,  after 
old  Susan,  the  maid,  had  gone  home.  I  covered  the  kitchen 
fire  with  ashes  —  a  thing  she  is  apt  to  neglect.  I  went  to  bed 
at  ten  and  wakened  to  hear  the  glass  crack  and  to  smell  smoke. 
The  kitchen  lay  under  my  bedroom.  I  fear  it  was  a  deliberate 
act  of  wickedness." 

"That  is  certain,"  said  Penhallow,  "but  who  could  have 
wanted  to  do  it.  You  and  I,  Rivers,  know  every  one  in  West- 
ways.  Can  you  think  of  any  one  with  malice  enough  to  make 
him  want  to  burn  a  house  and  risk  the  possibility  of  murder  ?  " 

Rivers  turned  his  lean  pale  face  toward  the  Squire,  unwilling 
to  speak  out  what  was  in  the  minds  of  both  men.  John  listened, 
looking  from  one  serious  face  to  the  other. 

"  It  seems  to  me  quite  incredible,"  said  Penhallow,  and  then 
Rivers  knew  surely  that  the  older  man  had  a  pretty  definite  be 
lief  in  regard  to  the  person  who  had  been  concerned.  He  knew 
too  why  the  Squire  was  unwilling  to  accuse  him,  and  waited  to 
hear  what  next  Penhallow  would  say. 

"  It  makes  one  feel  uncomfortable,"  said  Penhallow,  and  turn 
ing  to  John,  "  Who  was  first  there  after  you  came  ?  " 


WESTWAYS  195 

"  Billy,  sir,  I  think,  even  before  the  men  from  the  Wayne,  but 
I  am  not  sure.  I  told  him  to  pound  on  the  doors  and  wake  up 
the  town." 

"  Did  he  say  anything  ?  " 

"  Oh,  just  his  usual  silliness." 

"Was  Peter  Lamb  at  the  fire?" 

"  I  think  not.  His  mother  opened  a  window  and  said  that 
she  could  not  waken  Peter.  It  was  Billy  told  me  that.  I  told 
Billy,  I  supposed  Peter  was  drunk.  But  he  wasn't  yesterday 
afternoon  —  I  saw  him." 

"  Oh,  there  was  time  enough  for  that,"  remarked  Riv- 
ers. 

Then  the  two  men  smoked  and  were  silent,  until  at  last  the 
Squire  said,  "  Of  course,  you  must  stay  here,  Rivers,  and  you 
know  how  glad  we  shall  be  —  oh,  don't  protest.  It  is  the  only 
pleasant  thing  which  comes  out  of  this  abominable  matter.  Ann 
will  like  it." 

"  Thank  you,"  returned  Rivers,  "  I  too  like  it." 

John  went  away  to  look  at  the  ruin  left  by  the  fire,  and  the 
Squire  said  to  his  friend,  "  As  I  am  absent  in  the  mornings  at 
the  mills,  you  may  keep  school  here,  Rivers,"  and  it  was  so 
settled. 

Before  going  out  Penhallow  went  to  his  wife's  little  room  on 
the  farther  side  of  the  hall.  He  had  no  desire  to  hide  his  con 
clusions  from  her.  She  saw  how  grave  he  looked.  "  What  is  it, 
James  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  up  from  her  desk. 

"  I  am  as  sure  as  a  man  can  be  that  Peter  Lamb  set  fire  to 
the  parsonage.  He  has  always  been  revengeful  and  he  owed  our 
friend,  the  Rector,  a  grudge.  I  have  no  direct  evidence  of  his 
guilt,  and  what  am  I  to  do  ?  You  know  why  I  have  always  stood 
by  him.  I  suppose  that  I  was  wrong." 

She  knew  only  too  well,  but  now  his  evident  trouble  troubled 
her  and  she  loved  him  too  well  to  accept  the  temptation  to  use 
the  exasperating  phrase,  "I  always  told  you  so."  "You  can 


196  WESTWAYS 

do  nothing,  James,  without  more  certainty.  You  will  not  ques 
tion  his  mother  ?  " 

"  No,  I  can't  do  that,  Ann ;  and  yet  I  cannot  quite  let  this  go 
by  and  simply  sit  still." 

"  What  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  and  with  this  he  left  her  and  rode  to  the 
mills.  In  the  afternoon  he  called  at  Mrs.  Lamb's  and  asked 
where  he  could  find  Peter. 

She  was  evidently  uneasy,  as  she  said,  "You  gave  him  work 
on  the  new  roof  of  the  Baptist  chapel  with  Boynton;  he  might 
be  there." 

He  made  no  comment,  and  went  on  his  way  until  reaching 
the  chapel  he  called  Peter  down  from  the  roof  and  said,  "  Come 
with  me,  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

Peter  was  now  sober  and  was  sharply  on  guard.  "  Come  away 
from  the  town,"  added  the  Squire.  He  crossed  the  street,  en 
tered  his  own  woods  and  walked  through  them  until  he  came  in 
sight  of  the  smoking  relics  of  the  parsonage,  where  at  a  distance 
some  few  persons  were  idly  discussing  what  was  also  on  Pen- 
hallow's  mind.  Here  he  turned  on  his  foster-brother,  and  said, 
"You  set  that  house  on  fire.  I  could  get  out  of  your  mother 
enough  to  make  it  right  to  arrest  you,  but  I  will  not  bring  her 
into  the  matter.  Others  suspect  you.  Now,  what  have  you  to 
say?" 

"  Say !     I  did  n't  do  it  —  that 's  all.     I  was  in  bed." 

"Why  did  you  not  get  up  and  help?" 

"  Was  n't  any  of  my  business,"  he  replied  sulkily.  "  Every 
body  in  this  town 's  against  me,  and  now  when  I  Ve  given  up 
drinking,  to  say  I  set  a  house  afire  — " 

"  Well ! "  said  Penhallow,  "  this  is  my  last  word,  you  may  go. 
I  shall  not  have  you  arrested,  but  I  cannot  answer  for  what 
others  may  do." 

Peter  walked  away.  He  had  been  for  several  days  enough 
under  the  influence  of  whisky  to  intensify  what  were  for  him 


WESTWAYS  197 

normal  or  at  least  habitually  indulged  characteristics.  For  them 
he  was  only  in  part  responsible.  His  mother  had  spoiled  him. 
He  had  been  as  a  child  the  playmate  of  his  breast-brother  until 
time  and  change  had  left  him  only  in  such  a  relation  to  Pen- 
hallow  as  would  have  meant  little  or  nothing  to  most  men.  As 
a  result,  out  of  the  Squire's  long  and  indulgent  care  of  a  lad 
who  grew  up  a  very  competent  carpenter,  and  gradually  more  and 
more  an  idle  drunkard,  Peter  had  come  to  overestimate  the  power 
of  his  claim  on  Penhallow.  What  share  in  his  evil  qualities  his 
father's  drunkenness  had,  is  in  no  man's  power  to  say.  His  de 
sire  to  revenge  the  slightest  ill-treatment  or  the  abuse  his  evil 
ways  earned  had  the  impelling  force  of  a  brute  instinct.  What 
he  called  "  getting  even  "  kept  him  in  difficulties,  and  when  he 
made  things  unpleasant  or  worse  for  the  offenders,  his  constant 
state  of  induced  indifference  to  consequences  left  him  careless 
and  satisfied.  When  there  was  not  enough  whisky  to  be  had, 
his  wild  acts  of  revengeful  malice  were  succeeded  by  such  child 
like  terror  as  Penhallow's  words  produced.  '  The  preacher 
would  have  him  arrested ;  the  Squire  would  not  interfere.  Some 
day  he  would  get  even  with  him  too ! '  There  was  now,  however, 
no  recourse  but  flight.  He  hastened  home  and  finding  his 
mother  absent  searched  roughly  until  by  accident  as  he  let  fall 
her  Bible,  a  bank  note  dropped  out.  There  were  others,  some 
sixty  dollars  or  more,  her  meagre  savings.  He  took  it  all 
without  the  least  indecision.  At  dark  after  her  return  he  ate 
the  supper  she  provided.  When  she  had  gone  to  bed,  he  packed 
some  clothes  in  a  canvas  bag  and  went  quietly  out  upon  the 
highway.  Opposite  to  the  smoking  ruin  of  the  rectory  he  halted. 
He  muttered,  "  I  ?ve  got  even  with  him  anyhow !  " 

As  he  murmured  his  satisfaction,  a  man  left  on  guard  crossed 
the  road.     "  Halloa !     Where  are  you  bound,  Peter  ?  " 

"  Goin'    after   a    job.     Bad   fire,   was  n't    it  —  hard    on   the 
preacher ! " 

"  Hard.     He  's  well  lodged  at  the  Squire's,  and  I  do  hear  it 


198  WESTWAYS 

was  insured.  Nobody  ?s  much  the  worse,  and  it  will  make  a 
fine  bit  of  work  for  some  of  us.  Who  done  it,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  know !     Good-night." 

When  out  of  sight,  he  turned  and  said,  "  I  ain't  got  even  yet. 
Them  rich  people  's  hard  to  beat.  Damn  the  Squire !  I  '11  get 
even  with  him  some  day."  He  was  bitterly  disappointed. 
"  Gosh !  I  ran  that  nigger  out,  and  now  I  'm  a  runaway  too. 
It's  queer." 

At  West  ways  Crossing  he  waited  until  an  empty  freight  train 
was  switched  off  to  let  the  night  express  go  by.  Then  he  stowed 
himself  away  in  an  open  box-car  and  had  a  comfortable  sense 
of  relief  as  it  rolled  eastward.  He  felt  sure  that  the  Squire's 
last  words  meant  that  he  might  be  arrested  and  that  immediate 
flight  was  his  only  chance  of  escape. 

He  thus  passes,  like  Josiah,  for  some  years  out  of  my  story. 
He  had  money,  was  when  sober  a  clever  carpenter,  and  felt, 
therefore,  no  fear  of  his  future.  He  had  the  shrewd  conviction 
that  the  Squire  at  least  would  not  be  displeased  to  get  rid  of 
him,  and  would  not  be  very  eager  to  have  him  pursued. 

James  Penhallow  was  disagreeably  aware  that  it  was  his  duty 
to  bring  about  the  punishment  of  his  drunken  foster-brother, 
but  he  did  not  like  it.  When  the  next  morning  he  was  about 
to  mount  his  horse,  he  saw  Mrs.  Lamb,  now  an  aged  woman, 
coming  slowly  up  the  avenue.  As  she  came  to  the  steps  of  the 
porch,  Penhallow  went  to  meet  her,  giving  the  help  of  his 
hand. 

"  Good-morning,  Ellen,"  he  said,  "  what  brings  you  here  over 
the  snow  this  frosty  day  ?  Do  you  want  to  see  Mrs.  Penhallow  ?  " 

For  a  moment  she  was  too  breathless  to  answer.  The  withered 
leanness  of  the  weary  old  face  moved  in  an  effort  to  speak,  but 
was  defeated  by  emotion.  She  gasped,  "  Let  me  set  down." 

He  led  her  into  the  hall  and  gave  her  a  chair.  Then  he  called 
his  wife  from  her  library-room.  Ann  at  once  knew  that  some- 


WESTWAYS  199 

thing  more  than  the  effect  of  exertion  was  to  be  read  in  the 
moving  face.  The  dull  grey  eyes  of  age  stared  at  James  Pen- 
hallow  and  then  at  her,  and  again  at  him,  as  in  the  vigour  of 
perfect  health  they  looked  down  at  his  old  nurse  and  with  kindly 
patience  waited.  "  Don't  hurry,  Ellen,"  said  Mrs.  Ann.  "  You 
are  out  of  breath." 

She  seemed  to  Ann  like  some  dumb  animal  that  had  no  lan 
guage  but  a  look  to  tell  the  story  of  despair  or  pain.  At  last 
she  found  her  voice  and  gasped  out,  "  I  came  to  tell  you  he  has 
run  away.  He  went  last  night.  I  'd  like  to  be  able  to  say,  James 
Penhallow,  that  I  don't  know  why  he  went  away  — " 

"We  will  not  talk  of  it,  Ellen,"  said  the  Squire,  with  some 
sense  of  relief  at  the  loss  of  need  to  do  what  he  had  felt  to  be  a 
duty.  "  Come  near  to  the  fire,"  he  added. 

<f  No,  I  want  to  go  home.  I  had  to  tell  you.  I  just  want  to 
be  alone.  I  'd  have  given  it  to  him  if  he  had  asked  me.  I 
don't  mind  his  taking  the  money,  but  he  took  it  out  of  my 
Bible.  I  kept  it  there.  It  was  like  stealing  from  the  Lord. 
It  '11  bring  him  bad  luck.  Mostly  it  was  in  the  Gospels  —  just 
a  bank-note  here  and  there  —  sixty-one  dollars  and  seventy-three 
cents  it  was."  She  seemed  to  be  talking  to  herself  rather  than 
to  the  man  and  woman  at  her  side.  She  went  on  —  sometimes 
a  babble  they  could  not  comprehend,  as  in  pity  and  wonder  they 
stood  over  her.  Then  again  her  voice  rose,  "  He  took  it  from 
the  book  of  God.  Oh,  my  son,  my  son!  I  must  go." 

She  rose  feebly  tottering,  and  added,  "  It  will  follow  him  like 
a  curse  out  of  the  Bible.  He  took  it  out  of  the  Bible.  I  must 

go." 

"  No,"  said  Penhallow,  "  wait  and  I  will  send  you  home." 

She  sat  down  again.  "  Thank  you."  Then  with  renewed 
strength,  she  said,  "  You  won't  have  them  go  after  him  ?  " 

"  No,  I  will  not." 

He  went  away  to  order  the  carriage,  and  returning  said,  "  You 
know,  Ellen,  that  you  will  always  be  taken  care  of." 


200  WESTWAYS 

"  Yes,  I  know,  sir  —  I  know.  But  he  took  it  out  of  my  Bible 
—  out  of  the  book  of  God."  She  was  presently  helped  into  the 
wagon  and  sent  away  murmuring  incoherently. 

"  And  so,  James/'  said  Ann,  "  she  knew  too  much  about  the 
fire.  What  a  tragedy !  " 

"Yes,  she  knew.  I  am  glad  that  he  has  gone.  If  he  had 
faced  it  out  and  stayed,  I  must  have  done  something.  I  sup 
pose  it  is  better  for  her  on  the  whole.  When  he  was  drunk,  he 
was  brutal ;  when  he  was  sober,  he  kept  her  worried.  I  am  glad 
he  has  gone." 

"  But,"  said  Ann,  "  he  was  her  son  — " 

"  Yes,  more  's  the  pity." 

In  a  day  or  two  it  was  known  that  Peter  had  disappeared. 
The  town  knew  very  well  why  and  discussed  it  at  evening,  when 
as  usual  the  men  gathered  for  a  talk.  Pole  expressed  the  general 
opinion  when  he  said,  "  It 's  hard  on  the  old  woman,  but  I  guess 
it 's  a  riddance  of  bad  rubbish."  Then  they  fell  to  talking  poli 
tics,  the  roofing  of  the  chapel  and  the  price  of  wheat  and  so 
Westways  settled  down  again  to  its  every-day  quiet  round  of 
duties. 

The  excitement  of  the  fire  and  Lamb's  flight  had  been  un 
favourable  to  literary  composition,  but  now  John  returned  to 
his  letter.  He  continued: 

"  The  reticule  will  have  to  be  finished  in  town.  Uncle  will 
take  it  after  the  election  or  send  it  to  you.  If  you  remember 
your  Latin,  you  will  know  that  reticule  comes  from  reticulus, 
a  net.  But  this  is  n't  really  a  net. 

"We  have  had  a  big  excitement.  Some  one  set  fire  to  the 
parsonage  and  it  burnt  down."  [He  did  not  tell  her  who 
set  it  on  fire,  although  he  knew  very  well  that  it  was  Peter 
Lamb.]  "  Lamb  has  run  away,  and  I  think  we  are  well  rid  of 
him. 

"  I  do  miss  you  very  much.     Mr.  Eivers  says  you  will  be  a 


WESTWAYS  201 

fashionable  young  lady  when  you  come  back  and  will  never  snow 
ball  any  more.     I  don't  believe  it. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"JOHN  PENHALLOW." 

Mrs.  Penhallow  enclosed  the  letter  in  one  of  her  own,  and  no 
answer  came  until  she  gave  him  a  note  at  the  end  of  October. 
Leila  wrote: 

"DEAR  JOHN:  It  is  against  the  rules  to  write  to  any  one 
but  parents,  and  I  am  breaking  the  rules  when  I  enclose  this  to 
you.  I  do  not  think  I  ought  to  do  it,  and  I  will  not  again. 

"  You  would  not  know  me  in  my  long  skirts,  and  I  wear  my 
hair  in  two  plaits.  The  girls  are  all  from  the  South  and  are 
very  angry  when  they  talk  about  the  North.  I  cannot  answer 
them  and  am  sorry  I  do  not  know  more  about  politics,  but  1  do 
know  that  Uncle  Jim  would  not  agree  with  them. 

"  I  go  on  Saturdays  and  over  Sundays  to  my  cousins  in  Balti 
more.  They  say  that  the  South  will  secede  if  Fremont  should 
be  elected.  I  just  hold  my  tongue  and  listen. 

"Yours  sincerely, 

"LEILA  GREY. 

"P.  S.  I  shall  be  very  proud  of  the  bag.  I  hope  you  are 
studying  hard." 

"Indeed!"  muttered  John.  "Thanks,  Miss  Grey."  There 
was  no  more  of  it. 

John  Penhallow  had  come  by  degrees  to  value  the  rare  privi 
lege  of  a  walk  with  the  too  easily  wearied  clergyman,  who  had 
avenues  of  ready  intellectual  approach  which  invited  the  ad 
venturous  mind  of  the  lad  and  were  not  in  the  mental  topography 
of  James  Penhallow.  The  cool,  hazy  days  of  late  October  had 
come  with  their  splendour  of  colour-contrasts  such  as  only  the 
artist  nature  could  make  acceptable,  and  this  year  the  autumn 
was  unusually  brilliant. 


202  WESTWAYS 

"Do  you  enjoy  it?"  asked  Elvers. 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir.     I  suppose  every  one  does." 
,  "  In  a  measure,  as  some  people  do  the  great  music,  and  as  the 
poets  usually  do  not.     People  presume  that  the  ear  for  rhythm 
is  the  same  as  that  for  music.     They  are  things  apart.     A  few 
poets  have  had  both." 

"  That  seems  strange,"  said  John.  "  I  have  neither/'  and  he 
was  lost  in  thought  until  Eivers,  as  usual  easily  tired,  said,  "  Let 
us  sit  down.  How  hazy  the  air  is,  John!  It  tenderly  natters 
these  wild  colour-contrasts.  It  is  like  a  November  day  of  the 
Indian  summer." 

"  Why  do  they  call  it  Indian  summer  ?  "  asked  John. 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  tried  in  vain  to  run  it  down  in  the  dic 
tionaries.  In  Canada  it  is  known  as  '  L'ete  de  St.  Martin.' ?: 

"  It  seems,"  said  John,  "  as  if  the  decay  of  the  year  had 
ceased,  in  pity.  It  is  so  beautiful  and  so  new  to  me.  I  feel 
sometimes  when  I  am  alone  in  these  woods  as  if  something  was 
going  to  happen.  Did  you  ever  feel  that,  sir  ?  " 

Eivers  was  silent  for  a  moment.  The  lad's  power  to  state 
things  in  speech  and  his  incapacity  to  put  his  thoughts  in  writ 
ing  had  often  puzzled  the  tutor.  "  Why  don't  you  put  such  re 
flections  into  verse,  John  ?  It 's  good  practice  in  English." 

«I  can't  — I've  tried." 

"Try  again." 

"  No,"  said  John  decidedly.  "  Do  look  at  those  maples,  Mr. 
Eivers  —  and  the  oaks  —  and  the  variety  of  colour  in  the  sassa 
fras.  Did  you  ever  notice  how  its  leaves  differ  in  shape  ?  " 

"  I  never  did,  but  nothing  is  exactly  the  same  as  anything 
else.  We  talked  of  that  once." 

"  Then  since  the  world  began  there  never  was  another  me  or 
Leila?" 

"Never.     There  is  only  one  of  anything." 

John  was  silent  —  in  thought  of  his  unresemblance  to  any 
other  John.  "  But  I  am  like  Uncle  Jim  !  Aunt  says  so." 


WESTWAYS  203 

"Yes,  outwardly  you  are;  but  you  have  what  he  has  not  — 
imagination.  It  is  both  friend  and  foe  as  may  be.  It  may  not 
be  a  good  gift  for  a  soldier  —  at  least  one  form  of  it.  It  may  be 
the  parent  of  fear  —  of  indecisions." 

"  But,  Mr.  Kivers,  may  it  not  work  also  for  good  and  sug 
gest  possibilities  —  let  you  into  seeing  what  other  men  may  do  ?  " 

The  reflection  seemed  to  Eivers  not  like  the  thought  of  so 
young  a  man.  He  returned,  "  But  I  said  it  might  be  a  friend 
and  have  practical  uses  in  life.  I  have  not  found  it  that  myself. 
But  some  men  have  morbid  imagination.  Let  us  walk."  They 
went  on  again  through  the  quiet  splendour  of  the  woodlands. 

"  Uncle  Jim  is  going  away  after  the  election." 

"Yes." 

"  He  will  see  Leila.     Don't  you  miss  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  not  as  you  do.  However,  she  will  grow  up  and  go 
by  you  and  be  a  woman  while  }rou  are  more  slowly  maturing. 
That  is  their  way.  And  then  she  will  marry/' 

"  Good  gracious  !     Leila  marry !  " 

"  Yes  —  it  is  a  way  they  have.     Let  us  go  home/* 

John  was  disinclined  to  talk.  Marry  —  yes  —  when  I  am 
older,  I  shall  ask  her  until  she  does ! 

November  came  in  churlish  humour  and  raged  in  storms  of 
wind  and  rain,  until  before  their  time  to  let  fall  their  leaves  the 
woods  were  stripped  of  their  gay  colours.  On  the  fourth  day  of 
November  the  Squire  voted  the  Fremont  electoral  ticket,  and 
understood  that  with  the  exception  of  Swallow  and  Pole,  West- 
ways  had  followed  the  master  of  Grey  Pine.  The  other  candi 
dates  did  not  trouble  them.  The  sad  case  of  Josiah  and  the 
threat  to  capture  their  barber  had  lost  Buchanan  the  twenty- 
seven  votes  of  the  little  town.  Mr.  Boynton,  the  carpenter, 
fastening  the  last  shingles  on  the  chapel  roof  remarked  to  a 
workman  that  it  was  an  awful  pity  Josiah  could  n't  know  about 
it  and  that  the  new  barber  was  n't  up  to  shaving  a  real  stiff 
beard. 


204  WESTWAYS 

The  Squire  wrote  to  his  wife  from  Philadelphia  on  the  ninth : 

"  DEAR  ANN  :  We  never  talk  politics  because  you  were  born 
a  Democrat  and  consider  Andrew  Jackson  a  political  saint.  1 
begin  to  wish  he  might  be  reincarnated  in  the  body  of  Buchanan. 
He  will  need  backbone,  I  fear.  'He  has  carried  our  State  by 
only  three  thousand  majority  in  a  vote  of  433,000.  I  am  told 
that  the  excitement  here  was  so  great  that  the  peacemaking  ef 
fect  of  a  day  of  cold  drizzle  alone  prevented  riot  and  bloodshed. 
Mr.  Buchanan  said  in  October,  'We  shall  hear  no  more  of 
"  Bleeding  Kansas." ;  Well,  I  hope  so.  Here  we  are  at  one.  I 
should  feel  more  regret  at  the  defeat  of  my  party  if  I  had  more 
belief  in  Fremont,  but  your  man  is,  I  am  sure,  elected,  and  we 
must  hope  for  the  best  and  try  to  think  that  hope  reasonable. 

"  I  have  been  fortunate  in  my  contracts  for  rails  with  the  two 
railroads.  I  shall  finish  this  letter  in  Baltimore. — 

"  Baltimore. —  I  saw  Leila,  who  has  quite  the  air  of  a  young 
lady  and  is  well,  handsome  and  reasonably  contented.  Dined 
with  your  brother  Henry ;  and  really,  Ann,  the  cold-blooded  way 
the  men  talked  of  secession  was  a  little  beyond  endurance.  I 
spoke  my  mind  at  last,  and  was  heard  with  courteous  disap 
proval.  My  friend,  Lt.-Colonel  Eobert  Lee  of  the  Army,  was 
the  only  man  who  was  silent  about  our  troubles.  Two  men 
earnestly  advocated  the  re-opening  of  the  slave-trade,  and  if  as 
they  say  slavery  is  a  blessing,  the  slave-trade  is  morally  justi 
fied  and  logically  desirable.  I  do  want  you  to  feel,  my  dear 
Ann,  how  extreme  are  the  views  of  these  pleasant  gentlemen. 

"  The  Madeira  was  good,  and  despite  the  half -hidden  bitter 
ness  of  opinion,  I  enjoyed  my  visit.  Let  John  read  this  letter 
if  you  like  to  do  so. 

"Yours  always  and  in  all  ways, 

"JAMES  PENHALLOW." 

She  did  not  like,  but  John  heard  all  about  this  visit  when  the 
Squire  came  home. 


WESTWAYS  205 

The  winter  of  1856-7  went  by  without  other  incident  at  West- 
ways,  with  Mrs.  Ann's  usual  bountiful  Christmas  gifts  to  the 
children  at  the  mills  and  Westways.  Mr.  Buchanan  was  in 
augurated  in  March.  The  captain  smiled  grimly  as  he  read  in 
the  same  paper  the  message  of  the  Governor  of  South  Carolina 
recommending  the  re-opening  of  the  trade  in  slaves,  and  the  new 
President's  hopes  "that  the  long  agitation  over  slavery  is  ap 
preaching  its  end."  Nor  did  Penhallow  fancy  the  Cabinet  ap 
pointments,  but  he  said  nothing  more  of  his  opinions  to  Ann 
Penhallow. 


CHAPTEK  XIII 

IN  the  early  days  of  May  the  Squire  began  to  rebuild  the  par 
sonage,  and  near  by  it  a  large  room  for  Sunday  school  and 
town-meetings.  Ann  desired  to  add  a  library-room  for  the  town 
and  would  have  set  about  this  at  once  had  not  her  husband 
resolutely  set  himself  against  any  addition  to  the  work  with 
which  she  filled  her  usefully  busy  life.  She  yielded  with  re 
luctance,  and  the  library  plan  was  set  aside  to  the  regret  of 
Rivers,  who  living  in  a  spiritual  atmosphere  was  slow  to  per 
ceive  what  with  the  anxiety  of  a  great  love  James  Penhallow 
saw  so  clearly  —  the  failure  of  Ann  Penhallow's  health. 

When  at  last  Penhallow  sat  down  with  McGregor  in  his  office, 
the  doctor  knew  at  once  that  something  serious  was  troubling 
his  friend. 

"  Well,  Penhallow,"  he  said,  "  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  see  my  wife.  She  sleeps  badly,  tires  easily, 
and  worst  of  all  is  unwilling  to  consult  you." 

"  Yes,  that  ?s  serious.  Of  course,  she  does  the  work  of  two 
people,  but  has  it  ever  occurred  to  you,  Penhallow,  that  in  the 
isolated  life  you  lead  she  may  be  at  times  bored  and  want  or 
need  society,  change  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Doctor,  if  I  propose  to  her  to  ask  our  friends  from 
the  cities  to  visit  us,  she  says  that  entertaining  women  would 
only  add  to  her  burdens.  How  could  she  amuse  them  ?  "  The 
Squire  had  the  helplessness  of  a  strong  man  who  has  to  deal 
with  the  case  of  a  woman  who,  when  a  doctor  is  thought  to  be 
necessary,  feels  that  she  has  a  right  to  an  opinion  as  to  whether 
or  not  it  is  worth  while.  She  did  not  believe  it  to  be  necessary 
and  felt  that  there  was  something  unpleasant  in  this  medical 

206 


WESTWAYS  207 

intrusion  upon  a  life  which  had  been  one  of  unbroken  health. 
To  her  husband's  annoyance  she  begged  him  to  wait,  and  on  one 
pretext  or  another  put  off  the  consultation  —  it  would  do  in  a 
week,  or  'she  was  better/  Her  postponement  and  lack  of  de 
cision  added  to  the  Squire's  distress,  but  it  was  mid- June  before 
she  finally  yielded  and  without  a  word  to  Penhallow  wrote  to 
ask  McGregor  to  call. 

In  a  week  Leila  would  be  at  Grey  Pine.  The  glad  prospect 
of  a  summer's  leisure  filled  John  with  happy  anticipations.  He 
had  his  boat  put  in  order,  looked  after  Lucy's  condition,  and  had 
in  mind  a  dozen  plans  for  distant  Jong-desired  rides  into  the 
mountains,  rides  which  now  his  uncle  had  promised  to  take  with 
them.  He  soon  learned  that  the  medical  providence  which  so 
often  interferes  with  our  plans  in  life  had  to  be  considered. 

Mrs.  Penhallow  to  John's  surprise  had  of  late  gone  to  bed 
long  before  her  accustomed  hour,  and  one  evening  in  this  June 
of  1857  Penhallow  seeing  her  go  upstairs  at  nine  o'clock  called 
John  into  the  library. 

"  Mr.  Rivers,"  he  said,  "  has  gone  to  see  some  one  in  West- 
ways,  and  I  have  a  chance  to  talk  to  you.  Sit  down." 

John  obeyed,  missing  half  consciously  the  ever-ready  smile  of 
the  Squire. 

"  I  am  troubled  about  your  aunt.  Dr.  McGregor  assures  me 
that  she  has  no  distinct  ailment,  but  is  simply  so  tired  that 
she  is  sure  to  become  ill  if  she  stays  at  home.  No  one  can  make 
her  lessen  her  work  if  she  stays  here.  You  are  young,  but  you 
must  have  been  aware  of  what  she  does  for  this  town  and  at  the 
mills  —  oh,  for  every  one  who  is  in  need  or  in  trouble.  There 
is  the  every-day  routine  of  the  house,  the  sick  in  the  village,  the 
sewing  class,  the  Sunday  afternoon  reading  in  the  small  hospital 
at  our  mills,  letters  —  no  end  of  them.  How  she  has  stood  it  so 
long,  I  cannot  see." 

"  But  she  seems  to  like  it,  sir,"  said  John.  He  could  n't  un 
derstand  that  what  was  so  plainly  enjoyed  could  be  hurtful. 


208  WESTWAYS 

"  Yes,  she  likes  it,  but  —  well,  she  has  a  heavenly  soul  in  an 
earthly  body,  and  now  at  last  the  body  is  in  revolt  against  over 
use,  or  that  at  least  is  the  way  McGregor  puts  it.  I  ought  to 
have  stopped  it  long  ago."  John  was  faintly  amused  at  the  idea 
of  any  one  controlling  Ann  Penhallow  where  her  despotic  beliefs 
concerning  duties  were  concerned. 

The  Squire  was  silent  for  a  little  while,  and  then  said,  "  It  has 
got  to  stop,  John.  I  have  talked  to  McGregor  and  to  her.  Leila 
is  to  meet  us  in  Philadelphia.  I  shall  take  them  to  Cape  May 
and  leave  them  there  for  at  least  the  two  months  of  summer. 
You  may  know  what  that  means  for  me  and  for  her,  and,  I  sup 
pose,  for  you." 

"  Could  I  not  go  there  for  a  while?  " 

"  I  think  not.  I  really  have  not  the  courage  to  be  left  alone, 
John.  I  think  of  asking  you  to  spend  a  part  of  the  day  at 
the  mills  this  summer.  You  will  have  to  learn  the  business,  for 
as  you  know  your  own  property,  your  aunt's  and  mine  are 
largely  invested  in  our  works.  I  thought  too  of  an  engineering 
school  for  you  in  the  fall,  and  then  of  the  School  of  Mines  in 
Paris.  It  is  a  long  look  ahead,  but  it  would  fit  you  to  relieve  me 
of  my  work.  Think  it  over,  my  son.  How  does  it  look  to  you, 
or  have  you  thought  of  what  you  mean  or  want  to  do  ?  Don't  an 
swer  me  now  —  think  it  over.  And  now  I  have  some  letters  to 
write.  Good-night." 

John  went  upstairs  to  bed  with  much  to  think  about,  and  above 
all  else  of  the  disappointing  summer  before  him  and  the  wish 
he  had  long  cherished,  but  which  his  uncle's  last  words  had 
made  it  necessary  for  him  to  reconsider. 

Ann  Penhallow  had  made  a  characteristic  fight  against  the 
combined  forces  of  the  doctor  and  her  husband.  She  had  de 
clared  she  would  give  up  this  and  that,  if  only  she  could  be  left 
at  home.  She  showed  to  the  doctor  an  irritability  quite  new  to 
his  experience  of  her  and  which  he  accepted  as  added  evidence  of 
need  of  change.  Her  bodily  condition  and  her  want  of  common 


WESTWAYS  209 

sense  in  a  matter  so  clear  to  him  troubled  the  Squire  and  drove 
him  to  his  usual  resort  when  worried  —  long  rides  or  hard 
tramps  with  his  gun.  After  luncheon  and  a  decisive  talk  with 
Mrs.  Ann,  she  had  pleaded  that  he  ought  to  remain  with  them 
at  the  shore.  She  was  sure  he  needed  it  and  it  would  set  her 
mind  at  ease.  He  told  her  what  she  knew  well  enough,  how 
impossible  it  would  be  for  him  to  leave  the  mills  and  be  absent 
long.  She  who  rarely  manufactured  difficulties  now  began  to 
ask  how  this  was  to  be  done  and  that,  until  Eivers  said  at  last, 
"  I  can  promise  to  read  at  the  hospital  until  I  go  away  for  my 
August  holiday." 

"  You  would  not  know  the  kind  of  things  to  read." 

"  No  one  could  do  it  as  well  as  you/'  said  Rivers,  "  but  I  can 
try." 

"  Everything  will  be  cared  for,  Ann/'  said  Penhallow,  "  only 
don't  worry." 

"I  never  worry,"  she  returned,  rising.  "You  men  think 
everything  will  run  along  easily  without  a  woman's  attention." 

"  Oh,  but  Ann,  my  dear  Ann ! "  exclaimed  Penhallow,  not 
knowing  what  more  to  say,  annoyed  at  the  discussion  and  at  her 
display  of  unnecessary  temper  and  the  entire  loss  of  her  usual 
common  sense. 

She  said,  with  a  laugh  in  which  there  was  no  mirth,  "  I  pre 
sume  one  of  you  will,  of  course,  run  my  sewing-class  ?  " 

"  Ann  —  Ann !  "  said  the  Squire. 

Rivers  understood  her  now  in  the  comprehending  sympathy  of 
his  own  too  frequent  moods  of  melancholy.  "  Ah !  "  he  mur 
mured,  "  if  I  could  but  teach  her  how  to  knit  the  ravelled  sleeve 
of  care." 

"  I  presume,"  she  added,  "  that  I  am  to  accept  it  as  settled/' 
and  so  went  out. 

"  Come,  John,"  said  Penhallow  an  Eour  later,  "  get  the  guns ; 
we  will  see  if  we  can  find  a  bird  or  two.  It  is  early,  but  we  will 
at  least  have  a  good  tramp." 


210  WESTWAYS 

John  kept  pace  with  the  rapid  stride  of  the  Squire,  taking 
note  of  the  reddening  buds  of  the  maples,  for  this  year  in  the 
hills  the  spring  came  late. 

"You  must  have  seen  your  aunt's  condition/'  said  Penhal- 
low.  "  I  have  seen  it  coming  on  ever  since  that  miserable  af 
fair  of  Josiah.  It  troubled  her  greatly." 

John  had  the  puzzled  feeling  of  the  inexperienced  young  in 
regard  to  the  matter  of  illness  and  its  influential  effect  on  tem 
per,  and  was  well  pleased  to  converse  on  anything  else,  when  his 
uncle  asked,  "  Have  you  thought  over  what  I  said  to  you  about 
your  future  ?  " 

"Well?" 

"  I  should  like  to  go  to  West  Point,  Uncle  Jim." 

To  his  surprise  Penhallow  returned,  pausing  as  he  spoke,  "  I 
had  thought  of  that,  but  as  I  did  not  know  you  had  ever  con 
sidered  it,  I  did  not  mention  it.  It  would  in  some  ways  please 
me.  As  a  life-long  career  it  would  not.  We  are  in  no  danger 
of  war,  and  an  idle  existence  at  army-posts  is  not  a  very  desir 
able  thing  for  an  able  man." 

"  I  had  the  idea,  uncle,  that  I  would  not  remain  in  the  serv 
ice." 

"But  you  would  have  to  serve  two  years  after  you  were 
graduated  —  and  still  that  was  what  I  did,  oh !  and  longer  — 
much  longer.  As  an  education  in  discipline  and  much  else,  it  is 
good  —  very  good.  Are  you  really  in  earnest  about  it?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  it  is  better  than  college.  I  will  think  about  it.  If  you 
go  to  the  Point,  it  should  be  this  coming  fall. —  See !  there  ?s 
a  bird.  Ah!  you  missed  him.  I  wonder  what  Ann  will 
say." 

Then  John  knew  that  the  Squire  favoured  what  had  been  for 
a  long  time  on  his  own  mind.  What  had  made  him  eager  to 
go  into  the  army  was  in  part  that  tendency  towards  adventure 
which  had  been  a  family  trait  and  his  admiration  for  the  soldier- 


WESTWAYS  211 

uncle ;  nor  did  the  mere  student  life  and  the  quiet  years  of  man 
aging  the  iron-mills  as  yet  appeal  to  him  as  desirable. 

"  I  wish,  Uncle  Jim,  that  you  could  settle  the  matter." 

This  was  so  like  his  own  dislike  of  unsettled  affairs  that  the 
Squire  laughed  in  his  hearty  way.  "  So  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
you  may  regard  it  as  decided;  but  securing  a  nomination  to  the 
Point  is  quite  another  matter.  It  may  be  difficult.  I  will  see 
about  it.  Now  we  will  let  it  drop.  That  dog  is  pointing.  Ah  ! 
the  rascal.  It  is  a  hare." 

They  saw  no  more  birds,  nor  did  the  Squire  expect  to  find  any 
thing  in  the  woods  except  the  peace  of  mind  to  be  secured  by 
violent  exercise.  He  went  on  talking  about  the  horses  and  the 
mills. 

When  near  to  the  house,  Penhallow  said,  "  Your  aunt  is  to  go 
away  to-morrow.  Every  day  here  seems  to  add  to  her  difficulty 
in  leaving  home.  I  shall  say  nothing  to  her  of  West  Point  until 
it  is  settled  one  way  or  another.  I  shall,  of  course,  go  to  the 
Cape  for  a  day,  unless  your  aunt's  brother  Charles  will  take  my 
place  when  he  brings  Leila  to  Philadelphia  to  meet  us.  I  may 
be  gone  a  week,  and  you  and  Eivers  are  to  keep  bachelor's  hall 
and  watch  the  work  on  the  parsonage.  I  shall  ask  Leila  to  write 
to  you  and  to  me  about  your  aunt.  Did  I  say  that  we  go  by  the 
9:30  A.  M.  express?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"Well,  we  do." 

James  Penhallow  was  pleased  and  amazed  when  he  discovered 
that  Mrs.  Ann  was  quietly  submissive  to  the  arrangements  made 
for  her  comfort  on  the  journey.  She  appeared  to  have  abruptly 
regained  her  good  temper  and,  Penhallow  thought,  was  un 
naturally  and  excessively  grateful  for  every  small  service.  Be 
ing  unused  to  the  ways  of  sick  women,  he  wondered  as  the  train 
ran  down  the  descent  from  the  Alleghany  Mountains  how  long 
a  time  was  required  to  know  any  human  being  entirely.  He 
had  been  introduced  within  two  weeks  to  two  Ann  Penhal- 


212  WESTWAYS 

lows  besides  the  Ann  he  had  lived  with  these  many  years.  He 
concluded,  as  others  have  done,  that  people  are  hard  to  under 
stand,  and  thus  thinking  he  ran  over  in  mind  the  group  they  left 
on  the  platform  at  Westways  Crossing. 

There  was  Billy  —  apparently  a  simple  character,  abruptly 
capable  of  doing  unexpected  things ;  useful  to-day,  useless  to 
morrow.  He  called  up  to  mind  the  very  competent  doctor; 
John,  and  his  friend  the  moody  clergyman  —  beloved  of  all  men. 
The  doctor  had  said  of  him,  "  a  man  living  in  the  monastery  of 
himself  —  in  our  world,  but  not  of  it." 

"  What  amuses  you,  James  ?  "  asked  his  wife. 

This  good  sign  of  return  ,to  her  normal  curiosity  was  fa 
miliarly  pleasant.  "  I  was  recalling,  Ann,  what  McGregor  said 
of  Eivers  after  that  horrid  time  of  sickness  at  Westways.  You 
may  remember  it." 

"  No,  I  do  not." 

"  No !     He  said  that  Eivers  was  a  round-shouldered  angel." 

"  That  does  not  seem  to  me  amusing,  James." 

"  Eound-shouldered  he  is,  Ann,  and  for  the  rest  you  at  least 
ought  to  recognize  your  heavenly  fellow-citizens  when  you  meet 
them." 

"  Is  that  your  poetry  or  your  folly,  James  Penhallow  ?  " 

"  Mine,  my  dear  ?  No  language  is  expansive  enough  for  Mc 
Gregor  when  he  talks  about  you." 

"  Nonsense,  James.  He  knows  how  to  please  somebody.  We 
were  discussing  Mark  Eivers." 

"Were  we?  Then  here  is  a  nice  little  dose  from  the  doctor 
for  you.  Last  Christmas,  after  you  had  personally  sat  up  with 
old  Mrs.  Lamb  when  she  was  so  ill,  and  until  I  made  a  row  about 
it—" 

, "  Yes  —  yes  —  I  know."  Her  curiosity  got  the  better  of  her 
dislike  of  being  praised  for  what  to  her  was  a  simple  duty,  and 
she  added,  "Well,  what  did  he  say?" 

"  Oh,  that  you  and  Eivers  were  like  angels  gone  astray  in  the 


WESTWAYS  213 

strange  country  called  earth ;  and  then  that  imp  of  a  boy,  John, 
who  says  queer  things,  said  that  it  was  like  a  bit  of  verse  Eivers 
had  read  to  him.  He  knew  it  too.  I  liked  it  and  got  him  to 
write  it  out.  I  have  it  in  my  pocket-book.  Like  to  see  it  ?  " 

"  No"  she  returned  —  and  then  — "  yes/'  as  she  reflected  that 
it  must  have  originally  applied  to  another  than  herself. 

He  was  in  the  habit  of  storing  in  his  pocket-book  slips  from 
the  papers  —  news,  receipts  for  stable-medicine,  and  rarely 
verse.  Now  and  then  he  emptied  them  into  the  waste  basket. 
He  brought  it  out  of  his  pocket-book  and  she  read  it : 

As  when  two  angel  citizens  of  Heaven 
Swift  winged  on  errands  of  the  Master's  love 
Meet  in  some  earthly  guise. 

"Is  that  all  of  it?" 

"  No,  John  could  not  remember  the  rest,  and  I  did  not  ask 
Mark/' 

"  I  should  suppose  not.  Thank  you  for  believing  it  had  any 
application  to  me.  And,  James,  I  have  been  a  very  cross  angel 
of  late." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Ann,  Dr.  McGregor  said  — " 

"  Never  mind  Dr.  McGregor,  James.  Go  and  smoke  your 
cigar.  I  am  tired  and  I  must  not  talk  any  more  —  talking  on 
a  train  always  tires  me." 

Two  days  after  the  departure  of  his  aunt  and  uncle,  John 
persuaded  Rivers  to  walk  with  him  on  the  holiday  morning  of 
Saturday.  The  clergyman  caring  little  for  the  spring  charm  of 
the  maiden  summer,  but  much  for  John  Penhallow's  youth  of 
promise,  wandered  on  slowly  through  the  woods,  with  head  bent 
forward,  stumbling  now  and  then,  lost  to  a  world  where  his  com 
panion  was  joyfully  conscious  of  the  prettiness  of  new-born  and 
translucent  foliage. 

Always  pleased  to  sit  down,  Rivers  dropped  his  thin  length 


214  WESTWAYS 

of  body  upon  the  brown  pine-needles  near  the  cabin  and  settling 
his  back  against  a  fallen  tree-trunk  made  himself  comfortable. 
As  usual,  when  at  rest,  he  began  to  talk. 

"  John/'  he  said,  "  you  and  Tom  McGregor  had  a  quarrel  long 
ago  —  and  a  fight." 

"Yes,  sir,"  returned  John  wondering. 

"  I  saw  it  —  I  did  not  interfere  at  once  —  I  was  wrong." 

This  greatly  amused  John.  "  You  stopped  it  just  in  time  for 
me  —  I  was  about  done  for." 

"Yes,  but  now,  John,  I  have  talked  to  Tom,  and  —  I  am 
afraid  you  have  never  made  it  up." 

"  No,  he  was  insolent  to  Leila  and  rude.  But  we  had  a  talk 
about  it  —  oh,  a  good  while  ago  —  before  she  went  away." 

"  Oh,  had  you !     Well,  what  then  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  told  me  you  had  talked  to  him  and  he  had  seen  Leila 
and  told  her  he  was  sorry.  She  never  said  a  word  to  me.  I  told 
him  thaj:  he  ought  to  have  apologized  to  me  —  too." 

Rivers  was  amused.  "  Apologies  are  not  much  in  fashion 
among  Westways  boys.  What  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  Oh,  just  that  he  did  n't  see  that  at  all  —  and  then  he  said 
that  he  was  going  away  this  fall  to  study  medicine,  and  some 
day  when  he  was  a  doctor  he  would  have  a  chance  to  get  even 
with  me,  and  would  n't  he  dose  me  well.  Then  we  both  laughed, 
and  —  I  shook  hands  with  him.  That 's  all,  sir." 

"Well,  I  am  pleased.  He  is  by  no  means  a  bad  fellow, 
and  as  you  know  he  is  clever  —  and  can  beat  you  in  mathe 
matics." 

"  Yes,  but  I  licked  him  well,  and  he  knows  it." 

"  For  shame,  John.  I  wish  my  Baptist  friend's  boy  would  do 
better  — he  is  dull." 

"  But  I  like  him,"  said  John.     "  He  is  so  plucky." 

"  There  is  another  matter  I  want  to  talk  about.  I  had  a  long 
conversation  about  you  with  your  uncle  the  night  before  he  left. 
I  heard  with  regret  that  you  want  to  go  into  the  army." 


WESTWAYS  215 

"  May  I  ask  why  ?  "  said  John,,  as  he  lay  on  the  ground  lazily 
fingering  the  pine-needles. 

"Is  it  because  the  hideous  business  called  war  attracts  you?  r 

"No,  but  I  like  what  I  hear  of  the  Point  from  Uncle  Jim. 
I  prefer  it  to  any  college  life.  Besides  this,  I  do  not  expect  to 
spend  my  life  in  the  service,  and  after  all  it  is  simply  a  first  rate 
training  for  anything  I  may  want  to  do  later  —  care  of  the  mills, 
I  mean.  Uncle  Jim  is  pleased,  and  as  for  war,  Mr.  Rivers,  if 
that  is  what  you  dislike,  what  chance  of  war  is  there  ?  " 

"  You  have  very  likely  forgotten  my  talk  with  Mr.  George 
Grey.  The  North  and  the  South  will  never  put  an  end  to  their 
differences  without  bloodshed." 

It  seemed  a  strange  opinion  to  John.  He  had  thought  so 
when  he  heard  their  talk,  but  now  the  clergyman's  earnestness 
and  some  better  understanding  of  the  half-century's  bitter  feel 
ing  made  him  thoughtful.  Rising  to  his  feet,  he  said,  "  Uncle 
Jim  does  not  agree  with  you,  and  Aunt  Ann  and  her  brother, 
Henry  Grey,  think  that  Mr.  Buchanan  will  bring  all  our  troubles 
to  an  end.  Of  course,  sir,  I  don't  know,  but " —  and  his  voice 
rose  — "  if  there  ever  should  be  such  a  war,  I  am  on  Uncle  Jim's 
side,  and  being  out  of  West  Point  would  not  keep  me  out  of 
the  fight." 

Rivers  shook  his  head.  "  It  will  come,  John.  Few  men  think 
as  I  do,  and  your  uncle  considers  me,  I  suspect,  to  be  governed 
by  my  unhappy  way  of  seeing  the  dark  side  of  things.  He  says 
that  I  am  a  bewildered  pessimist  about  politics.  A  pessimist  I 
may  be,  but  it  is  the  habitually  hopeful  meliorist  who  is  just 
now  perplexed  past  power  to  think  straight." 

John's  interest  was  caught  for  the  moment  by  the  word, 
"meliorist."  "What  is  a  meliorist,  sir?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  a  wild  insanity  of  hopefulness.  You  all  have  it.  I 
dislike  to  talk  about  the  sad  future,  and  I  wonder  men  at  the 
North  are  so  blind." 

He  fell  again  to  mere  musings,  a  self-absorbed  man,  while 


216  WESTWAYS 

John,  attracted  by  a  squirrel's  gambols  and  used  to  the  rector's 
long  silences,  wandered  near  by  among  the  pines,  with  a  vaga 
bond  mind  on  this  or  that,  and  watching  the  alert  little  acrobat 
of  the  forest.  As  he  moved  about,  he  recalled  his  first  walks 
to  the  cabin  with  Leila  and  the  wild  thing  he  had  said  one  day 
—  and  her  reply.  One  ages  fast  at  seventeen,  and  now  he  won 
dered  if  he  had  been  quite  wise,  and  with  the  wisdom  and 
authority  of  a  year  and  a  half  of  mental  growth  punished  his 
foolish  boy-past  with  severity  of  reproach.  He  had  failed  for 
a  time  to  hear,  or  at  least  to  hear  with  attention,  the  low-voiced 
soliloquies  in  which  Mr.  Eivers  sometimes  indulged.  McGregor, 
an  observant  man,  said  that  Kivers's  mind  jumped  from  thought 
to  thought,  and  that  his  talk  had  at  times  no  connective  tissue 
and  was  hard  to  follow. 

Now  he  spoke  louder.  "  No  one,  John,  no  one  sees  that  every 
new  compromise  compromises  principles  and  honour.  Have 
you  read  any  of  the  speeches  of  a  man  named  Lincoln  in  Illinois  ? 
He  got  a  considerable  vote  in  that  nominating  convention." 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Then  read  it  —  read  him.  A  prophet  of  disaster !  He  says, 
€  A  house  divided  against  itself  cannot  stand.  This  government 
cannot  endure  permanently  half  slave,  half  free.'  The  man  did 
not  know  that  he  was  ignorantly  quoting  George  Washington's 
opinion.  It  is  so,  and  so  it  will  be.  I  would  let  them  go  their 
way  in  peace,  for  the  sin  of  man-owning  is  ours  —  was  ours  — 
and  we  are  to  suffer  for  it  soon  or  late  —  a  nation's  debts  have 
to  be  paid,  and  some  are  paid  in  blood." 

The  young  fellow  listened  but  had  no  comment  ready,  and 
indeed  knew  too  little  of  the  terrible  questions  for  which  time 
alone  would  have  an  answer  to  feel  the  full  force  of  these  awful 
texts.  He  did  say,  "  I  will  read  Mr.  Lincoln's  speeches.  Uncle 
talks  to  me  about  Kansas  and  slavery  and  compromises,  but  it 
is  sometimes  too  much  for  me." 

"Yes,  he  will  not  talk  of  these  things  to  your  aunt,  and  is 


WESTWAYS  217 

not  willing  to  talk  to  me.     He  thinks  both  of  us  are  extremists. 
No,  I  won't  walk  any  further.     Let  us  go  home." 

The  natural  light-mindedness  of  a  healthy  lad  easily  dis 
poses  of  the  problems  which  disturb  the  older  mind.  John  for 
got  it  all  for  a  time  in  the  pleasant  interest  of  a  letter  from 
Leila,  received  a  day  before  his  uncle's  return. 

"  CAPE  MAY,  June  21st. 

"My  DEAR  JOHN:  Here  at  last  I  am  free  to  write  to  you 
when  I  please,  and  I  have  some  rather  strange  news;  but  first 
of  Aunt  Ann.  She  is  very  well  pleased  and  is  already  much 
better.  Uncle  Jim  left  us  to-day,  and  I  am  to  have  Lucy  here 
and  one  of  the  grooms.  If  only  I  could  have  you  to  ride  with 
me  on  this  splendid  beach  and  see  the  great  blue  waves  roll  up 
like  a  vast  army  charging  with  white  plumes  and  then  rolling 
back  in  defeat." — 

John  paused.  This  was  not  like  Leila.  He  felt  in  a  vague 
way  that  she  must  be  changing,  and  remembered  the  rector's 
predictions.  Then  he  read  on  — 

"Now  for  my  adventure:  Aunt  Ann  wanted  some  hair- 
wash,  and  I  went  to  the  barber's  shop  in  the  town  to  buy  it. 
There  was  no  one  in  but  a  black  boy,  because  it  was  the  bath 
ing-time.  He,  I  mean  the  boy,  said  he  would  call  Mr.  John 
son.  In  a  moment  there  came  out  of  a  back  room  who  do 
you  think  but  our  Josiah!  He  just  stood  still  a  moment  — 
and  then  said,  '  Good  God !  Miss  Leila !  Come  into  the  back 
room  —  you  did  give  me  a  turn.'  I  thought  he  seemed  to  be 
alarmed.  Well,  I  went  with  him,  and  he  asked  me  at  once  who 
was  with  me.  I  said,  Aunt  Ann,  and  that  she  was  not  well. 
Then  I  got  out  of  him  that  he  had  wandered  a  while,  and  at 
last  chosen  this  as  a  safe  place.  No  one  had  told  me  fully 
about  Cousin  George  Grey  and  why  Josiah  was  scared  and  ran 
away,  but  now  I  got  it  all  out  of  him  —  and  how  you  warned 


218  WESTWAYS 

him  —  and  I  do  think  it  was  splendid  of  a  boy  like  you.  He 
was  dreadfully  afraid  of  being  taken  back  to  be  a  slave.  It 
seems  he  saved  his  money,  and  after  working  here  bought  out 
the  shop  when  his  master  fell  ill.  I  did  not  like  it,  but  to  quiet 
him  I  really  had  to  say  that  I  would  not  tell  Aunt  Ann,  or 
he  would  have  to  run  away  again.  I  am  sure  aunt  would  not  do 
anything  to  trouble  him,  but  it  was  quite  impossible  to  make 
him  believe  me,  and  he  got  me  at  last  to  promise  him.  I  sup 
pose  there  is  really  no  harm  in  it,  but  I  never  did  keep  any 
thing  from  Aunt  Ann.  I  got  the  hair-wash  and  went  away  with 
his  secret.  Now,  is  n't  that  a  story  ! 

"  I  forgot  one  thing.  As  the  Southern  gentlemen  come  to  be 
shaved  and  ask  where  he  was  born,  they  hear  —  think  of  it  — 
that  'Mr.  Johnson'  was  born  in  Connecticut!  His  grand 
father  had  been  a  slave.  I  shall  see  him  again. 

"  This  is  the  longest  letter  I  ever  wrote,  and  you  are  to  feel 
duly  complimented,  Mr.  Penhallow. 

"  Good-bye.     Love  from  Aunt  Ann. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"LEILA  GREY. 
"  P.S.     I  am  sure  that  I  may  trust  you  not  to  speak  of  Josiah." 

Mr.  John  Penhallow,  as  they  said  at  Westways,  "  going  on 
seventeen,"  gathered  much  of  interest  in  reading  and  re-read 
ing  this  letter  from  Miss  Grey.  To  own  a  secret  with  Leila 
was  pleasant.  To  hear  of  Josiah  as  "  Mr.  Johnson  "  amused  him. 
That  he  was  prosperous  he  liked,  and  that  he  was  fearful  with 
or  without  reason  seemed  strange.  It  was  and  had  been  hard 
for  the  young  freeman  to  realize  the  ever-present  state 
of  mind  of  a  man  in  terror  of  arrest  without  any  crime  on  his 
conscience.  There  was  perhaps  a  slight  hint  of  doubt  in  Leila's 
request  that  he  would  be  careful  not  to  mention  what  she  had 
said  of  Josiah,  "  as  if  I  am  really  a  boy  and  Leila  older  than  I," 
murmured  John.  He  knew,  as  he  once  more  read  her  words, 


WESTWAYS  219 

that  he  ought  to  tell  his  uncle,  who  could  best  decide  what  to 
do  about  Josiah  and  his  terror  of  being  reclaimed  by  his  old 
owner. 

During  the  early  hours  of  a  summer  night  Mark  Eivers  sat 
on  the  porch  in  a  rocking-chair,  which  he  declared  gave  him 
all  the  exercise  he  required.  It  was  the  only  rocking-chair  at 
Grey  Pine,  and  nothing  so  disturbed  the  Squire  as  Mark 
Eivers  rocking  on  that  unpleasant  piece  of  furniture  and  smok 
ing  as  if  it  were  a  locomotive.  It  was  an  indulgence  of  Ann 
Penhallow,  who  knew  that  there  had  been  a  half-dozen  rockers 
in  the  burned  rectory. 

John  sat  on  the  steps  and  listened  to  the  shrill  katydids  or 
watched  the  devious  lanterns  of  the  fireflies.  A  bat  darted 
over  the  head  of  Eivers,  who  ducked  as  it  went  by,  watching  its 
uncertain  flight. 

"  I  am  terribly  afraid  of  bats,"  said  the  rector.     "  Are  you  ?  " 

"I  —  no.     They  're  harmless." 

"Yes,  I  know  that,  but  I  am  without  reason  afraid  of  them. 
I  think  of  the  demons  as  being  like  monstrous  bats.  But  that 
is  a  silly  use  of  imagination." 

"Uncle  Jim  doesn't  like  them,  and  you  once  told  me  that 
he  had  very  little  imagination." 

"  Yes.  One  can't  explain  these  dislikes.  Your  uncle  reasons 
well  and  has  a  clear  logical  mind,  but  he  has  neither  creative 
nor  receptive  imagination." 

"Receptive?"  asked  John. 

"Yes,  that  is  why  he  has  none  of  your  aunt's  joy  in  poetry. 
When  I  read  to  her  Wordsworth's  'Brougham  Castle,'  he  said 
that  he  had  never  heard  more  silly  nonsense." 

"  I  remember  it  was  that  wonderful  verse  about  the  '  longing 
of  the  shield.' '; 

"  Yes  —  I  forgot  you  were  there.  Verse  like  that  is  a  good 
test  of  a  person's  capacity  to  feel  poetry  —  that  kind,  I  mean." 

"  I  hear  Uncle  Jim's  horse." 


220  WESTWAYS 

"  Yes.  I  can't  see,  John,  why  a  man  should  want  to  have  a 
horse  sent  to  meet  him  instead  of  a  comfortable  wagon," —  and 
for  emphasis,  as  usual  with  Kivers,  the  rocking-chair  was 
swinging  to  the  limits  of  its  arc  of  safe  motion. 

The  Squire  dismounted  and  came  up  the  steps  with  "  Good- 
evening,  Rivers," —  and  to  John,  "  I  have  good  news  for  you 
—  but  order  my  supper  at  once,  then  we  will  talk."  He  was  in 
his  boyish  mood  of  gaiety.  "  How  far  have  you  travelled  on 
that  rocker,  Rivers  ?  " 

"  Now,  Squire  —  now,  really  — "  It  was  a  favourite  subject 
of  chaff. 

"Why  not  have  rocking-chairs  in  church,  Mark?  Think 
what  a  patient  congregation  you  would  have !  Come,  John,  I 
am  hungry."  He  fled  laughing. 

While  the  Squire  ate  in  silence,  John  waited  until  his  uncle 
said,  "  Come  into  the  library."  Here  he  filled  his  pipe  and 
took  the  match  John  offered.  "  There  are  many  curious  varie 
ties  of  man,  John.  There  is  the  man  who  prefers  a  rocking- 
chair  to  the  saddle.  It's  queer  —  very  queer;  and  he  is  as 
much  afraid  of  a  horse  as  I  am  —  of  —  I  don't  know  what." 

The  Squire's  memory  failed  to  answer  the  call.  "What  are 
you  grinning  at,  you  young  scamp  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Rivers  did  say,  Uncle  Jim,  something  about  bats." 

"  Yes,  that 's  it  —  bats  —  and  I  do  suppose  every  one  has  his 
especial  fear.  Ah !  quite  inexplicable  nonsense !  —  fears  like 
mine  about  bats,  or  your  aunt's  about  dogs,  but  also  fears  that 
make  a  man  afraid  that  he  will  not  face  a  danger  that  is  a 
duty.  When  we  had  smallpox  at  the  mills,  soon  after  Rivers 
came  here,  he  went  to  the  mill-town  and  lived  there  a  month, 
and  nursed  the  sick  and  buried  the  dead.  At  last  he  took  the 
disease  lightly,  but  it  left  a  mark  or  two  on  his  forehead. 
That  I  call  —  well,  heroic.  Confound  that  rocking-chair ! 
How  it  squeaks !  " 

John  was  too  intently  listening  to  hear  anything  but  the 


WESTWAYS  221 

speaker  who  declared  heroic  the  long  lean  man  with  the  pale 
face  and  the  eyes  like  search-lights.  John  waited;  he  wanted 
to  hear  something  more. 

"  Did  many  die,  uncle  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  The  men  had  fought  McGregor  about  vaccination. 
Many  died.  There  was  blindness  too.  Supplies  failed  —  no 
one  would  come  in  from  the  farms." 

John  waited  with  the  fear  of  defect  in  his  ideal  man.  Then 
he  ventured,  "  And  Aunt  Ann,  was  she  here  ?  " 

"  No,  I  sent  her  away  when  I  went  to  Milltown." 

"  Oh  !  you  were  there  too,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes,  damn  it !  "  He  rarely  swore  at  all.  "  Where  did  you 
suppose  I  would  be  ?  But  I  lived  in  terror  for  a  month  —  oh, 
in  deadly  fear !  " 

"  Thank  you,  sir." 

"  Thank  me,  what  for  ?  Some  forms  of  sudden  danger  make 
me  gay,  with  all  my  faculties  at  their  best,  but  not  that.  I 
had  to  nurse  Rivers;  that  was  the  worst  of  it.  You  see,  my 
son,  I  was  a  coward." 

"  I  should  like  to  be  your  kind  of  a  coward,  Uncle  Jim." 

"  Well,  it  was  awful.  Let  us  talk  of  something  else.  I  left 
your  aunt  better,  went  to  Washington,  saw  our  Congressman, 
got  your  nomination  to  West  Point  and  a  letter  from  Leila. 
Your  aunt  must  be  fast  mending,  for  she  was  making  a  long 
list  of  furniture  for  the  new  parsonage,  and  'would  I  see  Ellen 
Lamb  and' — eleven  other  things,  the  Lord  knows  what  else, 
and  'when  could  she  return?'  McGregor  said  in  September, 
and  I  so  wrote  to  her;  she  will  hate  it.  And  she  dislikes  your 
going  to  West  Point.  I  had  to  tell  her,  of  course." 

"I  have  had  a  letter  from  Leila,  uncle.  Did  she  write  you 
anything  about  Josiah  ?  " 

"  About  Josiah !     No.    What  was  that  ?  " 

"  She  said  I  was  not  to  tell,  but  I  think  you  ought  to 
know—" 


222  WESTWAYS 

"  Of  course,  I  should  know.     Go  on.     Let  me  see  the  letter." 

"  It  is  upstairs,  sir,  but  this  is  what  she  wrote,"  and  he  went 
on  to  tell  the  story. 

The  Squire  laughed.  "I  must  let  Mr.  Johnson  know,  as 
Leila  did  not  know,  that  it  was  Ann  who  really  sent  you  to 
warn  him.  Poor  fellow!  I  can  understand  his  alarm,  and 
how  can  I  reassure  him?  George  Grey  is  going  to  Cape  May, 
or  so  says  your  aunt,  and  I  am  sure  if  Josiah  knows  that  he  is 
recognized,  he  will  drop  everything  and  run.  I  would  run, 
John,  an/1  quickly  too.  Grey  will  be  sure  to  write  to  Wood- 
burn  again." 

"What  then,  sir?" 

"  Oh,  he  told  your  Aunt  Ann  and  me  that  he  would  not  go 
any  further  unless  he  chanced  to  know  certainly  where  Josiah 
was.  If  he  did,  it  would  be  his  duty,  as  he  said,  to  reclaim 
him.  It  is  not  a  pleasant  business,  and  I  ought  to  warn  Josiah, 
which  you  may  not  know  is  against  the  law.  However,  I  will 
think  it  over.  Ann  did  not  say  when  Grey  was  coming,  and  ho 
is  just  as  apt  not  to  go  as  to  go.  Confound  him  and  all  their 
ways." 

John  had  nothing  to  say.  The  matter  was  in  older  and 
wiser  hands  than  his.  His  uncle  rose,  "  I  must  go  to  bed,  but 
I  have  a  word  to  say  now  about  your  examinations  for  admis 
sion.  I  must  talk  to  Kivers.  Good-night !  " 


CHAPTER  XIV 

ON  Saturday  the  Squire  asked  John  to  ride  with  him.     As 
they   mounted,    Billy    came    with    the    mail.     Penhallow 
glanced  at  the  letters  and  put  them  in  his  pocket. 

As  the  horses  walked  away,  John  said,  "  I  was  in  Westways 
yesterday,  uncle,  to  get  my  hair  cut.  I  heard  that  Pole  has 
had  chicken-pox,  uncle." 

"Funny  that,  for  a  butcher!"  said  the  Squire.  They 
chatted  of  the  small  village  news.  "  They  have  quit  discussing 
politics,  Uncle  Jim." 

"  Yes,  every  four  years  we  settle  down  to  the  enjoyment  of 
the  belief  that  now  everything  will  go  right,  or  if  we  are  of 
those  who  lost  the  fight,  then  there  is  the  comfort  of  thinking 
things  could  not  be  worse,  and  that  the  other  fellows  are  re 
sponsible." 

"Uncle  Jim,  at  Westways  people  talked  about  the  election 
as  if  it  were  a  horse-race,  and  didn't  interest  anybody  when 
it  was  over." 

"Yes,  yes;  but  there  are  for  the  average  American  many 
things  to  think  about>  and  he  does  n't  bother  himself  about  who 
is  to  be  President  or  why,  until,  as  McGregor  says,  events  come 
along  and  kick  him  and  say,  '  Get  up  and  think,  or  do  some 
thing.'  " 

"When  I  talked  to  Mr.  Eivers  lately,  he  seemed  very  blue 
about  the  country.  He  seems  to  believe  that  everything  is  go 
ing  wrong." 

"  Oh,  Eivers ! "  exclaimed  Penhallow,  "  what  a  great,  noble 
soul!  But,  John,  a  half  hour  of  talk  with  him  about  our  na 
tional  affairs  leaves  me  tangled  in  a  net  of  despair,  and  I  hate 
it.  You  have  a  letter,  I  see." 

223 


224:  WESTWAYS 

"  Yes,  it  is  from  Leila,  sir." 

"  Let 's  hear  it,"  said  Penhallow. 

John  was  inclined,  he  could  hardly  have  told  why,  to  con 
sider  this  letter  when  alone,  but  now  there  was  nothing  possible 
except  to  do  as  he  was  bid. 

"  Eead  it.     I  want  to  hear  it,  John." 

As  they  walked  their  horses  along  the  road,  John  read: 

"  DEAR  JOHN  :  I  did  not  expect  to  write  to  you  again  until 
you  wrote  to  me,  but  I  have  been  perplexed  to  know  what  was 
best  to  do.  I  wanted  —  oh,  so  much  —  to  consult  Uncle  Jim, 
or  some  older  person  than  you,  and  so  I  ask  you  to  send  this 
to  Uncle  Jim  if  he  is  absent,  or  let  him  see  it  if  he  is  at  home. 
He  is  moving  about  and  we  do  not  know  how  to  address  him." — 

"  That 's  a  big  preface  —  go  on." 

"  I  did  not  see  Josiah  again  until  yesterday  morning.  Aunt 
Ann  has  been  insisting  that  my  hair  needs  singeing  at  the  ends 
to  make  it  grow.  [It  is  too  long  now  for  comfort.]" — 

"  That 's  in  brackets,  Uncle  Jim  —  the  hair,  I  mean." 
"Yes  — what  next?" 

"  Well,  John,  when  Aunt  Ann  keeps  on  and  on  in  her  gently 
obstinate,  I  mean  resolute,  way,  it  is  best  to  give  up  and  make 
believe  a  little  that  you  agree  with  her.  My  hair  was  to  be 
singed  —  I  gave  up." — 

"  Oh,  Leila ! "  exclaimed  Penhallow,  rocking  in  the  saddle 
with  laughter,  while  John  looked  up  smiling.  "  Go  on." 

"  So  aunt's  new  maid  got  her  orders,  and  while  aunt  was 
asleep  in  her  room  the  maid  brought  up  Josiah.  It  was  as 


WESTWAYS  225 

good  as  a  play.  He  was  very  civil  and  quiet.  You  know  how 
he  loved  to  talk.  He  singed  my  hair,  and  it  was  horrid  —  like 
the  smell  of  singeing  a  plucked  chicken.  After  that  he  sent  the 
maid  to  his  shop  for  some  hair-wash.  As  soon  as  she  was  gone, 
he  said,  '  I  'm  done  for,  Miss  Leila.  I  met  Mr.  George  Grey 
en  the  beach  this  morning.  He  knew  me  and  I  knew  him. 
He  said,  "  What !  you  here,  you  rascally  runaway  horse-thief ! " 
I  said,  "  I  was  n't  a  thief  or  a  rascal."  Then  he  said  something 
I  didn't  hear,  for  I  just  left  him  and — I  can't  stay  here  — 
he  '11  do  something,  and  I  can't  run  no  risks  —  oh,  Lord ! ' " — 

"  I  thought,"  said  the  Squire,  "  we  were  done  with  that  tire 
some  fool,  George  Grey.  Whether  he  will  write  again  to  Wood- 
burn  about  Josiah  or  not,  no  one  can  say.  Woodburn  did  tell 
me  that  if  at  any  time  he  could  easily  get  hold  of  his  slave,  he 
would  feel  it  to  be  a  duty  to  make  use  of  the  Fugitive- Slave 
Law.  I  do  not  think  he  will  be  very  eager,  but  after  all  it  is 
uncertain,  and  if  I  were  Josiah,  I  would  run  away." 

As  he  talked,  the  horses  walked  on  through  the  forest  wood- 
roads.  For  a  moment  he  said  nothing,  and  then,  "  It  is  hard  to 
put  yourself  in  another  man's  place;  that  means  to  be  for  the 
time  of  decision  that  man  with  his  inheritances,  all  his  memo 
ries,  all  his  hopes  and  all  his  fears." 

This  was  felt  by  the  lad  to  be  somehow  unlike  his  uncle,  who 
added,  "  I  heard  Mark  Eivers  say  that  about  Peter,  but  it  ap 
plies  here.  I  would  run.  But  go  on  with  your  letter.  What 
else  does  Leila  say  ?  " 

John  read  on : 

"  Josiah  was  so  scared  that  I  could  not  even  get  him  to  listen 
to  me.  He  gathered  up  his  barber  things  in  haste,  and  kept 
on  saying  over  and  over,  '  I  have  got  to  go,  missy.'  Now  he  has 
gone  and  his  shop  is  shut  up.  I  was  so  sorry  for  him,  I  must 
have  cried,  for  aunfs  maid  asked  me  what  was  the  matter. 


226  WESTWAYS 

This  is  all.  It  is  late.  I  shall  mail  this  to-morrow.  Aunt 
Ann  has  been  expecting  Mr.  George  Grey,  my  far-away  cousin. 
I  wish  he  was  further  away !  " — 

"  Good  gracious !  Leila.     Well,  John,  any  more  ?  " 
"  Yes,  sir." 

"  He  came  in  this  morning,  I  mean  Mr.  Grey,  and  began  to 
talk  and  was  so  pleased  to  see  his  dear  cousin.  Aunt  Ann  went 
on  knitting  and  saying  something  pleasant  now  and  then.  At 
last  he  asked  if  she  knew  that  runaway  horse-thief  we  called 
Josiah  was  the  barber  here.  He  said  that  he  must  really  write 
to  that  rascal's  owner,  and  went  over  and  over  the  same  thing. 
Aunt  Ann  looked  at  me  when  he  mentioned  the  barber.  Then 
she  sat  up  and  said,  '  If  you  have  done  talking,  I  desire  to  say 
a  word/  Of  course,  he  was  at  her  service.  You  know,  John, 
how  he  talks.  Aunt  Ann  said,  '  You  made  quite  enough  trouble, 
George,  about  this  man  at  Westways.  I  told  you  then  that  he 
had  done  us  a  service  I  could  never  forget.  I  won't  have  him 
disturbed  here.  Mr.  Woodburn  behaved  with  discretion  and 
courtesy.  If  you  make  any  more  trouble,  I  shall  never  forgive 
you.  I  won't  have  it,  George  Grey/  I  never  saw  any  one  so 
embarrassed,  John.  He  put  his  hat  on  the  floor  and  picked  it 
up,  and  then  he  sat  down  in  his  chair  and,  I  call  it,  wilted. 
He  said  that  he  had  not  quite  made  up  his  mind.  At  this  Aunt 
Ann  stood  up,  letting  her  knitting  drop,  and  said,  '  Then  you 
had  better;  you've  got  no  mind/  After  this  he  got  up  and 
said  that  she  had  insulted  him.  Aunt  Ann  was  red  and  angry. 
She  said,  {  Tell  James  Penhallow  that,  Mr.  Grey/  After  this 
he  went  away,  and  Aunt  Ann  said  to  me,  'Tell  Josiah  if  you 
can  find  him  that  he  need  not  be  afraid ;  the  man  will  not  write 
to  Mr.  Woodburn/  After  that  I  told  her  all  about  Mr.  John 
son  and  got  a  good  scolding  for  not  having  told  her  before,  and 
that  Josiah  had  gone  away  scared.  She  was  tired  and  angry 


WESTWAYS  227 

and  sent  me  away.     That  is  all.     Let  Uncle  Jim  get  this  letter. 

"Yours  truly, 

"  LEILA. 

"P.S.  Oh,  I  forgot.  Josiah  gave  me  a  letter  for  Uncle 
Jim.  I  enclose  it.  I  did  not  give  it  to  Aunt  Ann;  perhaps  I 
ought  to  have  done  so.  But  it  would  have  been  useless  because 
it  is  sealed,  and  you  know  the  rule  at  Grey  Pine." 

"  Poor  Josiah ! "  said  Penhallow,  "  I  wonder  where  he  has 
gone." 

"  He  may  say  in  his  letter,"  said  John. 

"  Read  it  to  me,  my  son.     I  forgot  my  glasses." 

"  It  is  addressed  to  Captain  Penhallow." 

"Yes,  I  was  always  that  to  Josiah  —  always." 

John  opened  the  letter,  which  was  carefully  sealed  with  a 
large  red  wafer. 

"  It  is  well  written,  uncle/' 

"  Yes  —  yes.  Rivers  taught  him  —  and  he  speaks  nearly  as 
good  English  as  George  Grey." 

John  looked  up  from  the  letter.     "  Oh,  that  is  funny ! 
It  begins,  '  Respectable  Sir.'  " 

"  My  dear  John,  that  is  n't  funny  at  all  —  it 's  old-fashioned. 
I  have  seen  a  letter  from  the  great  Dr.  Rush  in  which  the  mother 
of  Washington  is  mentioned  as  'that  respectable  lady.'  But 
now,  sir,  you  will  be  good  enough  to  let  me  hear  that  letter 
without  your  valuable  comments." 

The  tone  was  impatient.  John  said,  "  Excuse  me,  uncle, 
but  I  could  n't  help  it." 

"  Oh,  read  it." 

"  I  am  driven  away  again.  I  write  this  to  thank  you  for  all 
you  done  for  me  at  Westways.  Mr.  Grey  he  met  me  here 
on  the  beach  and  I  'm  afraid  —  I  don't  take  no  chances.  I  saved 
money  here.  I  can  get  on  anywhere.  It's  awful  to  have  to 


228  WESTWAYS 

run  away,  and  that  drunkard  Peter  Lamb  all  the  while  safe 
with  his  mother.  I  can't  get  him  out  of  my  mind.  I  'm  a 
Christian  man  —  and  I  tried  to  forgive  him.  I  can't  do  it. 
If  I  am  quiet  and  let  alone,  I  forget.  I  've  got  to  get  up  and 
go  and  hide,  and  I  curse  him  that  done  it.  Please,  sir,  not  tell 
Mr.  Eivers  what  I  say.  I  seen  Miss  Leila.  I  always  said  Miss 
Leila  would  be  a  beauty.  There  ain't  no  young  lady  here  can 
hold  a  candle  to  her.  I  want  to  say  I  did  have  hope  to  see  Mr. 
John. 

"  God  bless  you,  Captain. 

"  Your  obedient  servant, 

"JOSIAH." 

The  Squire  halted  in  the  open  pine  forest  on  a  wood-road 
behind  the  cabin.  He  threw  one  leg  over  the  pommel  and  sat 
still  with  the  ease  of  a  horseman  in  any  of  the  postures  the 
saddle  affords.  "  Bead  me  both  of  those  letters  again,  and 
slowly." 

This  time  John  made  no  remarks.  When  he  came  to  the  end 
of  Josiah's  letter,  he  looked  towards  the  silent  figure  seated  side 
ways.  The  Squire  made  no  comment,  but  searched  his  pockets 
for  the  flint  and  steel  he  always  carried.  Lighting  his  pipe 
he  slid  to  the  ground. 

"  Take  the  rein,  John,"  he  said,  "  or  the  mare  will  follow 
me." 

Penhallow  was  deep  in  the  story  these  letters  told,  and  he 
thought  best  when  walking.  John  sat  in  his  saddle  watching 
the  tall  soldierly  figure  move  up  the  road  and  back  again  to 
the  cabin  his  ancestors  had  held  through  one  long  night  of  fear. 
John  caught  sight  of  the  face  as  Penhallow  came  and  then 
turned  away  on  his  slow  walk,  smoking  furiously.  He  sat  still 
having  learned  to  be  respectful  of  the  long  silences  to  which  at 
times  Penhallow  was  given.  Now  and  then  with  a  word  he 
quieted  the  uneasy  mare  —  a  favourite  taught  to  follow  the 


WESTWAYS  229 

master.  At  last  Penhallow  struck  his  pipe  on  a  stone  to  empty 
it,  and  by  habit  carefully  set  a  foot  on  the  live  coal.  -Then  he 
came  to  the  off  side  of  his  mare  and  took  the  rein.  Facing 
John,  he  set  an  elbow  on  the  horse's  back  and  a  hand  on  his 
own  cheek.  This  was  no  unusual  attitude.  He  did  not  mount, 
but  stood  still.  The  ruddy  good-humoured  face,  clean-shaven 
and  large  of  feature,  had  lost  its  look  of  constant  good-humour. 
In  fact,  the  feature  language  expressed  the  minute's  mood  in  a 
way  which  any  one  less  familiar  with  the  man  than  John  might 
have  read  with  ease.  Then  he  said,  in  an  absent  way,  "  Are  we 
men  of  the  North  all  cowards  like  Josiah?  They  think  so  — 
they  do  really  think  so.  It  is  helping  to  make  trouble."  Then 
he  lifted  himself  lightly  into  the  saddle,  with  swift  change  of 
mood  and  an  odd  laugh  of  comment  on  his  conclusion,  as  he 
broke  into  a  gallop.  "  Let  us  get  into  the  sun." 

John  followed  him  as  they  rode  swiftly  over  a  cross-road  and 
out  on  to  the  highway.  Again  the  horses  were  walking,  and 
Penhallow  said,  "  I  suppose  you  may  not  have  understood  me. 
I  was  suddenly  angry.  It  is  a  relief  sometimes  to  let  off  steam. 
Well,  I  fancy  time  will  answer  me  —  or  that  is  what  I  try  not 
to  believe  —  but  it  may  —  it  may.  Let  us  talk  of  something 
else.  I  must  find  out  from  Eivers  just  how  well  you  are  pre 
pared  for  the  Point.  Then  I  mean  to  give  you  every  night  an 
hour  or  so  of  what  he  cannot  teach.  You  ride  well,  you  know 
French  and  German,  you  box  —  it  may  be  of  service,  keep  it 
up  once  a  week  at  least.  I  envy  you  the  young  disciplined  life 
—  the  simpleness  of  it  —  the  want  of  responsibilities." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  returned  John,  "  I  hope  to  like  it  and  to 
do  you  credit,  uncle." 

"  You  will,  I  am  sure.     Let  us  go  to  the  mills." 

John  hesitated  before  he  asked,  "  Could  not  I  have,  sir,  a  few 
days  with  Aunt  Ann  at  the  Cape  ?  " 

"  No,  I  shall  want  you  here." 

John  was  silent  and  disappointed.     The  Squire  saw  it,     "It 


230  WESTWAYS 

can't  be  helped  —  I  do  not  feel  able  to  be  alone.  Leila  will  be 
away  a  year  more  and  you  will  be  gone  for  several  years.  For 
your  sake  and  mine  I  want  you  this  summer.  Take  care! 
You  lost  a  stirrup  when  Dixy  shied.  Oh!  here  are  the  mills. 
Good  morning,  McGregor.  All  well  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir.  Tom  has  gone  to  the  city.  He  is  to  be  in  the 
office  of  a  friend  of  mine  this  summer.  I  shall  be  alone." 

"  John  goes  to  West  Point  this  September,  Doctor." 

"Indeed!  You  too  will  be  alone.  Next  it  will  be  Leila. 
How  the  young  birds  are  leaving  the  nests!  Even  that  slow 
lad  of  Grace's  is  going.  He  is  to  learn  farming  with  old 
Eoberts.  He  has  a  broad  back  and  the  advantage  of  not  being 
a  thinking-machine." 

"  He  may  have  made  the  best  choice,  McGregor." 

"  No,  sir,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  my  son  has  the  best  of  it." 

John  laughed.  "  I  don't  think  I  should  like  either  farm  or 
medicine." 

"  No,"  returned  the  Doctor,  with  his  queer  way  of  stating 
things,  "there  must  be  some  one  to  feed  the  people;  Tom  is 
to  be  trained  to  cure,  and  you  to  kill." 

"  I  don't  want  to  kill  anybody,"  said  John,  laughing. 

"  But  that  is  the  business  you  are  going  to  learn,  young  man." 
John  was  silent.  The  idea  of  killing  anybody ! 

"  Heard  from  Mrs.  Penhallow  lately  ?  "  asked  the  doctor. 

"  No,  but  from  Leila  to-day ;  and,  you  will  be  surprised,  from 
Josiah  too." 

"Is  that  so?" 

"  Yes.  Give  him  the  two  letters,  John.  Let  me  have  them 
to-morrow,  Doctor.  Good-bye,"  and  they  rode  on  to  the  mills. 

"  It  is  a  pity,  John,  Josiah  gave  no  address,"  said  Penhallow, 
— "a  childlike  man,  intelligent,  and  with  some  underlying 
temper  of  the  old  African  barbarian."  The  summer  days  ran 
on  with  plenty  of  work  for  John  and  without  incidents  of  mo 
ment,  until  the  rector  went  away  as  was  his  habit  the  first  of 


WESTWAYS  231 

August,  more  moody  than  usual.  If  the  rectory  were  finished,  he 
would  go  there  in  September,  and  Mrs.  Ann  had  written  to  him 
about  the  needed  furniture. 

On  August  20th  that  lady  wrote  from  Cape  May  that  she 
must  go  home,  and  Leila  that  her  aunt  was  well  but  homesick. 
The  Squire,  who  missed  her  greatly,  unreluctantly  yielded,  and 
on  August  25th  she  was  met  at  the  station  by  Penhallow  and 
John.  To  the  surprise  of  both,  she  had  brought  Leila,  as  her 
school  was  not  to  begin  until  September  10th. 

"  My  dear  James/'  cried  Mrs.  Ann,  "  it  is  worth  while  to 
have  been  away  to  learn  how  good  it  is  to  get  home  again.  I 
thought  I  would  surprise  you  with  Leila."  As  the  Squire 
kissed  her,  Leila  and  the  maid  came  from  the  car  to  the  plat 
form  loaded  with  bundles. 

John  stood  still.  Nature  had  been  busy  with  her  artist-work. 
A  year  had  gone  by  —  the  year  of  maturing  growth  of  mind 
and  body  for  a  girl  nearing  sixteen.  Unprepared  for  her  change, 
John  felt  at  once  that  this  was  a  woman,  who  quickly  smiling 
gave  him  a  cordial  greeting  and  her  hand.  "  Why,  John  Pen- 
hallow,"  she  said,  "  what  a  big  boy  you  are  grown ! "  It  was  as 
if  an  older  person  had  spoken  to  a  younger.  A  head  taller  than 
the  little  Mrs.  Ann,  she  was  in  the  bloom  of  maiden  loveliness, 
rosy,  joyous,  a  certain  new  stateliness  in  her  movements.  The 
gift  of  grace  had  been  added  by  the  fairy  godmother  na 
ture. 

John  said,  with  gravity,  "  You  are  most  welcome  home,  Leila," 
and  then  quickly  aware  of  some  coldness  in  his  words,  "  Oh,  I  am 
so  very  glad  to  see  you ! "  She  had  gone  by  him  in  the  swift 
changes  of  life.  Without  so  putting  it  distinctly  into  the  words 
of  a  mental  soliloquy,  John  was  conscious  that  here  was  another 
Leila. 

"  Come,  in  with  you,"  said  the  happy  master  of  Grey  Pine. 
"  How  well  you  look,  Ann,  and  how  young !  The  cart  will 
bring  your  bundles." 


232  WESTWAYS 

John  Penhallow  on  an  August  afternoon  was  of  Billy's 
opinion  that  Leila  had  "  growed  a  lot "  as  she  came  out  upon 
the  porch  and  gaily  laughing  cried,  "  At  last,  Aunt  Ann  has 
done  with  me." 

They  were  both  suffering  from  one  of  those  dislocations  of 
relation  which  even  in  adult  life  are  felt  when  friends  long 
apart  come  together  again.  The  feeling  of  loss,  as  far  as  John 
was  concerned,  grew  less  as  Leila  with  return  of  childlike  joy 
roamed  with  him  over  the  house  and  through  the  stables,  and 
next  day  through  Westways,  with  a  pleasant  word  for  every  one 
and  on  busying  errands  for  her  aunt.  He  was  himself  occupied 
with  study ;  but  now  the  Squire  had  said  it  would  be  wise  to  drop 
his  work. 

With  something  of  timidity  he  said  to  Leila,  "  I  am  free  for 
this  afternoon;  come  and  see  again  our  old  playgrounds.  It 
will  be  a  long  while  before  we  can  take  another  walk." 

"  Certainly,  John.  And  is  n't  it  a  nice,  good-natured  day  ? 
The  summer  is  over.  Sometimes  I  wish  we  had  no  divisions  of 
months,  and  the  life  of  the  year  was  one  quiet  flow  of  days  — 
oh,  with  no  names  to  remind  you." 

"  But  think,  Leila,  of  losing  all  the  poetry  of  the  months. 
Why  not  have  no  day  or  night?  Oh,  come  along.  What  do 
you  want  with  a  sunshade  and  a  veil  —  we  will  be  mostly  in 
the  woods." 

"  My  complexion,  Mr.  Penhallow,"  cried  Miss  Grey  gaily. 

He  watched  her  young  figure  as  she  went  upstairs  —  the  mass 
of  darkened  gold  hair  coiled  in  the  classic  fashion  of  the  day  on 
the  back  of  her  head.  She  looked  around  from  the  stair.  "  T 
shall  be  ready  in  a  minute,  John.  It  rained  yesterday  —  will 
it  be  wet  in  the  woods  ?  " 

"No,"  cried  John,  "and  what  does  it  matter?"  He  had  a 
dull  feeling  of  resentment,  of  loss,  of  consciousness  of  new 
barriers  and  of  distance  from  the  old  comrade. 

Their  way  led  across  the  garden,  which  was  showing  signs 


WESTWAYS  233 

of  feeling  the  chilly  nights  of  the  close  of  summer  in  this  up 
land,  where  the  seasons  sometimes  change  abruptly. 

"  The  garden  has  missed  Aunt  Ann,"  said  Leila.  "  Uncle 
Jim  looks  at  it  from  the  porch,  says  '  How  pretty ! '  and  expects 
to  see  roses  on  his  table  every  day.  I  do  believe  he  considers 
a  garden  as  merely  a  kind  of  flower-farm." 

"  Aunt  Ann's  garden  interests  her  the  way  Westways  does. 
There  are  sick  flowers  and  weeds  like  human  weeds,  and  bugs 
and  diseases  that  need  a  flower-doctor,  and  flowers  that  are 
morbid  or  ill-humoured.  That  is  not  my  wisdom,  Leila,  it  is 
Mr.  Kivers's." 

"  No,  John,  it  is  n't  at  all  like  you." 

"Aunt  Ann  didn't  like  it,  and  yet  I  think  he  meant  it  to 
be  a  compliment,  for  he  really  considers  Aunt  Ann  a  model  of 
what  a  woman  ought  to  be." 

"I  know  that  pretty  well,"  said  Leila.  "When  I  used  to 
lose  my  temper  over  that  horrid  algebra,  I  was  told  to  consider 
how  Aunt  Ann  kept  her  temper  no  matter  what  happened,  as  if 
that  had  anything  to  do  with  algebra  and  equations.  If  he  had 
seen  her  when  she  talked  to  George  Grey  about  Josiah,  he  would 
have  known  Aunt  Ann  better.  I  was  proud  of  her." 

"  Aunt  Ann  angry ! "  said  John.  "  I  should  have  liked  to 
have  seen  that.  Poor  Josiah !  " 

They  talked  of  the  unlucky  runaway,  and  were  presently 
among  the  familiar  pine  and  spruce,  far  beyond  the  garden 
bounds.  "  Do  put  up  that  veil,"  said  John,  "  and  you  have  not 
the  least  excuse  for  your  parasol." 

"  Oh,  if  you  like,  John.  Tell  me  about  West  Point.  It  was 
such  a  surprise." 

"  I  will  when  I  am  there,  if  I  am  able  to  pass  the  examina 
tions." 

"You  will  —  you  will.  Uncle  Jim  told  me  you  would  pass 
easily." 

"  Indeed !     He  never  told  me  that.     I  have  my  doubts." 


234  WESTWAYS 

"  And  I  have  none/'  she  returned,  smiling.  "  Mr.  Eivers  dis 
likes  it.  He  wrote  to  me  about  it  just  before  he  left.  Do  you 
know,  he  did  really  think  that  you  ought  to  be  a  clergyman. 
He  said  you  were  so  serious-minded  for  —  for  a  boy." 

John  laughed.  "  A  nice  clergyman  I  'd  have  made."  Did 
Leila  too  consider  him  a  boy  ?  "  Oh !  here  we  are  at  the  old 
cabin.  I  never  forget  the  first  day  we  came  here  —  and  the 
graves.  The  older  I  grow,  Leila,  the  more  clearly  I  can  see  the 
fight  and  the  rifle-flashes,  and  the  rescue  —  and  the  night  —  I 
can  feel  their  terror." 

"  Oh,  we  were  mere  children,  John ;  and  I  do  suppose  that 
it  is  a  pretty  well  decorated  tradition."  He  looked  at  her  with 
surprise,  as  she  added,  "  I  used  to  believe  it  all,  now  it  seems 
strange  to  me,  John  —  like  a  dream  of  childhood.  I  think  you 
really  are  a  good  deal  of  a  boy  yet." 

"  No,  I  am  not  a  boy.  I  sometimes  fancy  I  never  was  a  boy 
—  I  came  here  a  child."  And  then,  "  I  think  you  like  to  tease 
me,  Leila,"  and  this  was  true,  although  she  was  not  pleased  to 
be  told  so.  "  You  think,  Leila,  that  it  teases  me  to  be  called  a 
boy  by  your  ladyship.  I  think  it  is  because  you  remember  what 
a  boy  once  said  to  you  here  —  right  here." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  She  knew  very  well  what  he  meant, 
but  quickly  repenting  of  her  feminine  fib,  said,  "  Oh,  I  do  know, 
but  I  wanted  to  forget  —  I  wanted  to  pretend  to  forget,  be 
cause  you  know  what  friends  we  have  been,  and  it  was  really  so 
foolish." 

He  had  been  lying  at  her  feet ;  now  he  rose  slowly.  •  "  You 
are  not  like  my  Leila  to-day." 

"Oh,  John!" 

"  No  —  and  it  is  hard,  because  I  am  going  away  —  and  —  it 
will  not  be  pleasant  to  think  how  you  are  changed." 

"  I  wish  you  would  n't  say  such  things  to  me,  John." 

"  I  had  to  —  because  —  I  love  you.     If  I  was  a  boy  when  I 


WESTWAYS  235 

was,  as  you  say,  silly,  I  was  in  earnest.  It  was  nonsense  to  ask 
you  to  say  you  would  marry  me  some  day.  It  was  n't  so  very 
long  ago  after  all;  but  I  agree  with  you,  it  was  foolish.  Now  I 
mean  to  make  no  such  proposal." 

"  Please,  John."  She  looked  up  at  him  as  he  stood  over  her 
so  grave,  so  earnest  —  and  so  like  Uncle  Jim.  For  the  time  she 
got  the  fleeting  impression  of  this  being  a  man. 

He  hardly  heard  her  appeal.  "  I  want  to  say  now  that  I  love 
you."  For  a  moment  the  '  boy's  will,  the  wind's  will,'  blew  a 
gale.  "  I  love  you  and  I  always  shall.  Some  day  I  shall  ask 
you  that  foolish  question  again,  and  again." 

She  too  was  after  all  very  young  and  had  been  playing  a  bit  at 
being  a  woman.  Now  his  expression  of  passion  embarrassed  her 
• —  because  she  had  no  answer  ready ;  nor  was  it  all  entirely  dis 
agreeable. 

He  stood  still  a  moment,  and  added,  "  That  is  all  —  I  ask 
nothing  now." 

Then  she  stood  up,  having  to  say  something  and  unwilling  to 
hurt  him  —  wanting  not  to  say  too  much  or  too  little,  and  end 
ing  by  a  childlike  reply.  "  Oh,  John,  I  do  wish  you  would  never 
say  such  things  to  me.  I  am  too  young  to  listen  to  such  non 
sense." 

"  And  I  am  young  too,"  he  laughed.  "  Well  —  well  —  let 
us  go  home  and  confess  like  children." 

"  Now  I  know  you  are  a  fool,  John  Penhallow,  and  very  dis 
agreeable." 

"  When  we  were  ever  so  young,  Leila,  and  we  quarrelled,  we 
used  to  agree  not  to  speak  to  one  another  for  a  day.  Are  you 
cross  enough  for  that  now  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  not ;  but  I  want  to  feel  sure  that  you  will  not  say 
such  things  to  me  again." 

"  I  make  no  promise,  Leila ;  I  should  break  it.  If  I  gave  you 
a  boy's  love,  forget  it,  laugh  at  it ;  but  if  I  give  you  a  man's  love, 
take  care." 


236  WESTWAYS 

This  odd  drama  —  girl  and  woman,,  boy  and  maturing  man  — 
held  the  stage ;  now  one,  now  the  other. 

"  Take  care,  indeed !  "  she  said,  repeating  his  words  and  turn 
ing  on  him  with  sudden  ungraciousness,  "  I  think  we  have  had 
enough  of  this  nonsense." 

She  was  in  fact  the  more  disturbed  of  the  two,  and  knowing 
it  let  anger  loose  to  chase  away  she  knew  not  what,  which  was 
troubling  her  with  emotion  she  could  neither  entirely  control  nor 
explain  later  as  the  result  of  what  seemed  to  her  mere  foolish 
ness.  If  he  was  himself  disturbed  by  his  storm  of  primitive  pas 
sion,  he  did  not  show  it  as  she  did. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  in  reply,  "  we  have  had  for  the  present  enough 
of  this  —  enough  talk,  I  mean — " 

"  We !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Leila !  do  you  want  me  to  apologize  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  —  let  us  get  those  roses  for  Aunt  Ann  —  what  are  left 
of  them." 

She  was  glad  to  escape  further  discussion  —  not  sure  of  her 
capacity  to  keep  in  order  this  cousin  who  was  now  so  young  and 
now  so  alarmingly  old.  His  abrupt  use  of  self-control  she  recog 
nised —  liked  and  then  disliked,  for  a  little  wrath  in  his  reply 
would  have  made  her  feel  more  at  ease.  With  well-reassumed 
good-humour,  she  said,  "  Now  you  are  my  nice  old  playmate,  but 
never,  never  bother  me  that  way  again." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  John,  laughing.  "  I  can  hear  Aunt  Ann 
say,  '  Eun,  dears,  and  get  me  flowers  —  and  —  there  will  be 
cakes  for  you/  ?: 

"  No,  bread  and  apple-butter,  John."  They  went  along  merry, 
making  believe  to  be  at  ease. 

"  The  robins  are  gone,"  said  Leila.  "  I  have  n't  seen  one  to 
day  ;  and  the  warblers  are  getting  uneasy  and  will  be  gone  soon. 
I  have  n't  seen  a  squirrel  lately.  Josiah  used  to  say  that  meant 
an  early  winter." 


WESTWAYS  237 

"Oh,  but  the  asters!  What  colour!  And  the  golden-rod! 
Look  at  it  close,  Leila.  Each  little  flower  is  a  star  of  gold." 

"  How  pretty !  "  She  bent  down  over  the  flowers  to  pay  the 
homage  of  honest  pleasure.  "  How  you  always  see,  John,  so 
easily,  the  pretty  little  wild  beauties  of  the  woods ;  I  never  could." 
She  was  "  making  up  "  as  children  say. 

"  Oh,  you  were  the  schoolmaster  once/'  he  laughed.  "  Come, 
we  have  enough ;  now  for  the  garden." 

They  passed  through  the  paling  fence  and  along  the  disordered 
beds,  where  a  night  of  too  early  frost  had  touched  with  chill  fin 
gers  of  disaster  the  latest  buds.  Leila  moved  about  looking  at 
the  garden,  fingering  a  bud  here  and  there  with  gentle  epitaphs 
of  "  late,"  "  too  late,"  or  gathering  the  more  matronly  roses  which 
had  bloomed  in  time.  John  watched  her  bend  over  them,  and 
then  where  there  were  none  but  frost-wilted  buds  stand  still 
and  fondle  with  tender  touch  the  withered  maidens  of  the  gar 
den. 

He  came  to  her  side,  "Well,  Leila,  I'll  swap  thoughts  with 
you." 

She  looked  up,  "  Your  's  first  then." 

"  I  was  thinking  it  must  be  hard  to  die  before  you  came  to  be 
a  rose  —  like  some  other  more  human  things." 

"  Is  that  a  charade,  John  ?  You  will  be  writing  poems  about 
the  lament  of  the  belated  virgin  roses  that  had  not  gathered  more 
timely  sunshine  and  were  alas !  too  late." 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  smile  of  pleased  surprise.  "  Thanks, 
cousin;  it  is  you  who  should  be  the  laureate  of  the  garden. 
Shelley  would  envy  you." 

"Indeed!  I  am  flattered,  sir,  but  I  have  not  read  any  of 
Shelley  as  yet.  You  have,  I  suppose?  He  is  supposed  to  be 
very  wicked.  Get  me  some  more  golden-rod,  John."  He  went 
back  to  the  edge  of  the  wood  and  came  again  laden,  rejoining 
her  at  the  porch. 

For  two  days  her  aunt  kept  her  busy.     Early  in  the  week  she 


238  WESTWAYS 

went  away  to  be  met  in  Philadelphia  by  her  Uncle  Charles,  and 
to  be  returned  to  her  Maryland  school. 

A  day  or  two  later  John  too  left  to  undergo  the  dreaded  ex 
amination  at  West  Point.  The  two  older  people  were  left  alone 
at  Grey  Pine  with  the  rector,  who  had  returned  from  his  annual 
holiday  later  than  usual.  Always  depressed  at  these  seasons,  he 
was  now  indisposed  for  the  society  of  even  the  two  people  who 
were  his  most  valued  friends.  He  dined  with  them  the  day  John 
went  away  and  took  up  the  many  duties  of  his  clerical  life,  un 
til  as  was  his  custom,  a  week  later  he  came  in  smiling  for  the 
Saturday  dinner,  saying,  "Well,  here  comes  the  old  house-dog 
for  his  bone." 

They  made  him  welcome  as  gaily.  "Has  the  town  wicked 
ness  accumulated  in  your  absence,  Mark  ?  "  said  Penhallow. 

"  Mine  has,"  said  Ann  Penhallow,  "  but  I  never  confess  ex 
cept  to  myself." 

"  Ann  Penhallow  might  be  a  severe  confessor,"  said  Rivers  as 
they  sat  down.  "  How  you  must  miss  John  and  Leila.  I  shall 
most  sadly." 

"  Oh,  for  my  part,"  said  Ann,  "  I  have  made  up  my  mind  not 
to  lament  the  inevitable,  but  my  husband  is  like  a  lost  dog  and  — 
oh !  —  heart-hungry  for  Leila,  and  worried  about  that  boy's  ex 
amination  —  his  passing." 

"  Have  I  saifT  a  word  ?  "  said  the  Squire  indignantly.  "  Pass ! 
Of  course,  he  will  pass." 

"  No  one  doubts  that,  James ;  but  you  are  afraid  he  will  not 
be  near  the  top." 

"  You  are  a  witch,  Ann.     How  did  you  know  that  ?  " 

"How?"  and  she  laughed.  "How  long  have  we  been  mar 
ried!" 

"Nonsense,  Ann!  What  has  that  got  to  do  with  the  mat 
ter?" 

"  Well,"  said  Rivers,  a  little  amused,  "  we  shall  know  in  a  day 
or  two.  He  will  pass  high." 


WESTWAYS  239 

"  Of  course/'  said  Penhallow. 

Then  the  talk  drifted  away  to  the  mills,  the  village  and  the 
farm  work.  When  after  dinner  Rivers  declined  to  smoke  with 
the  Squire,  Ann  walked  with  the  clergyman  down  the  avenue 
and  said  presently,  "Dine  with  us  on  Monday,  Mark,  and  as 
often  as  possible.  My  husband  is  really  worrying  about  John." 

"  And  you,  dear  lady  ?  " 

"  I  —  oh,  of  course,  I  miss  them  greatly ;  but  Leila  needs  the 
contact  with  the  social  life  she  now  has  in  the-  weekly  holiday 
at  Baltimore ;  and  as  for  John,  did  it  never  occur  to  you  that  he 
ought  to  be  among  men  of  his  age  —  and  social  position  —  and 
women  too,  who  will  not,  I  fancy,  count  for  much  in  the  West 
Point  education." 

"  Yes  —  yes,  what  you  say  is  true  of  course,  but  ah !  I  dread 
for  him  the  temptations  of  another  life  than  this." 

"  Would  you  keep  him  here  longer,  if  you  could  ?  "  she  asked. 

"No.  What  would  life  be  worth  or  how  could  character  be 
developed  without  temptation  ?  That  is  one  of  my  puzzles  about 
the  world  to  come,  a  world  where  there  would  be  no  <  yes  and  no ' 
would  hardly  be  worth  while." 

"And  quite  beyond  me,"  cried  Ann,  laughing.  "We  have 
done  our  best  for  them.  Let  us  pray  that  they  will  not  forget. 
I  have  no  fear  for  Leila.  I  do  not  know  about  John.  I  must 
go  home.  Come  often.  Good-night.  I  suppose  the  sermon 
takes  you  away  so  early." 

"Yes  —  more  or  less,  and  I  am  poor  company  just  now. 
Good-night." 


CHAPTEE  XV 

WHEN"  at  breakfast  on  a  Monday  morning  Penhallow  said, 
"  That  mail  is  late  again,"  his  wife  knew  that  he  was  still 
eager  for  news  from  John. 

"  The  mail  is  always  late  on  Monday  morning,  James.  If  you 
are  in  haste  to  get  to  the  mills,  I  will  send  it  after  you." 

"  No,  it  is  unimportant,  Ann.  Another  cup,  please.  Ah ! 
there  it  is  now."  He  went  out  on  to  the  porch.  "  You  are  late, 
Billy." 

"  I  ain't  late  —  it  was  Mrs.  Crocker  —  she  kept  me." 

Penhallow  selected  two  letters  postmarked  West  Point,  and 
opening  one  as  he  went  in  to  the  breakfast-room,  said,  "  My  dear, 
it  is  rather  satisfactory  —  quite  as  much  as  could  be  expected." 

"  Well,  James !  What  is  rather  satisfactory  ?  You  are  really 
exasperating  at  times." 

"  Am  I  ?  Well,  John  has  passed  in  the  first  half  dozen  —  he 
does  not  yet  know  just  where — " 

"And  are  you  not  entirely  contented?  You  ought  to  be. 
What  is  the  other  letter?" 

He  opened  it.  "  It  is  only  a  line  from  the  old  drawing-master 
to  say  that  John  did  well  and  would  have  been  second  or  third, 
they  said,  except  for  not  being  higher  in  mathematics."  As  he 
spoke  he  rose  and  put  both  letters  in  his  pocket.  "  Now  I  must 

go-" 

"  But  let  me  see  them,  James." 

"  Oh,  John's  is  only  a  half  dozen  lines,  and  I  must  go  at  once 
—  I  have  an  appointment  at  the  mills  —  I  want  to  look  over  the 
letters  again,  and  shall  write  to  him  from  the  office."  Ann  was 

240 


WESTWAYS  241 

slightly  annoyed,  but  said  no  more  until  on  the  porch  before  he 
mounted  she  took  a  mild  revenge.  "  I  know  where  you  are  go 
ing" 

"  Well,  and  where,  please  ?  "    He  fell  into  her  trap. 

"  First,  you  will  stop  at  the  rectory  and  read  those  letters  to 
Mark  Eivers;  then  the  belated  mail  will  excuse  a  pause  at  the 
post-office  to  scold  Mrs.  Crocker.  Tell  Pole  as  you  go  by  that 
last  mutton  was  atrociously  tough.  Of  course,  you  won't  men 
tion  John." 

"  Well,  are  you  done  ?  "  he  said,  as  he  mounted  Dixy.  "  I 
can  wait,  Ann,  until  you  read  the  letters." 

"  Thanks,  I  am  in  no  hurry."  He  turned  in  the  saddle  and 
gave  her  the  letters.  She  put  aside  her  brief  feeling  of  annoy 
ance  and  stood  beside  him  as  she  read  them.  "  Thank  you, 
James.  What  an  uneasy  old  uncle  you  are.  Now  go.  Oh,  be 
off  with  you  — and  don't  forget  Dr.  McGregor."  As  he  rode 
away,  she  called  after  him,  "  James  —  James  —  I  forgot  some 
thing." 

He  turned,  checking  Dixy.  "  Oh,  I  forgot  to  say  that  you 
must  not  forget  the  office  clerks,  because  you  know  they  are  all 
so  fond  of  John." 

"What  a  wretch  you  are,  Ann  Penhallow!  Go  in  and  re 
pent." 

"  I  don't,"  and  laughing,  joyously,  she  stood  and  looked  after 
the  tall  figure  as  he  rode  away  happy  and  gaily  singing,  as  he 
was  apt  to  do  if  pleased,  the  first  army  carol  the  satisfaction  of 
the  moment  suggested: 

Come  out  to  the  stable 
As  soon  as  you  're  able, 
And  see  that  the  horses 
That  they  get  some  corn. 
For  if  you  don't  do  it, 
The  colonel  will  know  it, 
And  then  you  will  rue  it 
As  sure  as  you  're  born. 


242  WESTWAYS 

"  Ah !  "  said  his  wife,  "  how  he  goes  back  —  always  goes  back 
—  to  the  wild  army  life  when  something  pleases  him.  Thank 
God  that  can  never  come  again."  She  recalled  her  first  year  of 
married  life,  the  dull  garrison  routine,  the  weeks  of  her  hus 
band's  absences,  and  when  the  troop  came  back  and  there  were 
empty  saddles  and  weeping  women. 

At  dinner  the  Squire  must  needs  drink  the  young  cadet's 
health  and  express  to  Eivers  his  regret  that  there  was  not  a 
West  Point  for  Leila.  Mrs.  Ann  was  of  opinion  that  she  had 
had  too  much  of  it  already.  Rivers  agreed  with  his  hostess,  and 
in  one  of  his  darkest  days  won  the  privilege  of  long  silences  by 
questioning  the  Squire  in  regard  to  the  studies  and  life  at  West 
Point,  while  Mrs.  Ann  more  socially  observant  than  her  hus 
band  saw  how  moody  was  Rivers  and  with  what  effort  he  manu 
factured  an  appearance  of  interest  in  the  captain's  enthusiasm 
concerning  educative  methods  at  the  great  army  school.  She 
was  relieved  when  he  carried  off  Rivers  to  the  library. 

"  It  is  chilly,  Mark ;  would  you  like  a  fire  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  am  never  too  warm/' 

The  Squire  set  the  logs  ablaze.     "  No  pipe,  Mark  ?  " 

"  Not  yet."  He  stretched  out  his  lean  length  before  the  ruddy 
birch  blaze  and  was  silent.  The  Squire  watched  him  and  made 
no  attempt  to  disturb  the  deep  reverie  in  which  the  }foung 
clergyman  remained.  At  last  the  great  grey  eyes  turned  from 
the  fire,  and  Rivers  sat  up  in  his  chair,  as  he  said,  "  You  must 
have  seen  how  inconsiderately  I  have  allowed  my  depression  to 
dismiss  the  courtesies  of  life.  I  owe  you  and  my  dear  Mrs. 
Penhallow  both  an  apology  and  an  explanation." — 

"But  really,  Mark—" 

"  Oh,  let  me  go  on.  I  have  long  wanted  to  talk  myself  out, 
and  as  often  my  courage  has  failed.  I  have  had  a  most  un 
happy  life,  Penhallow.  All  the  pleasant  things  in  it  —  the  past 
few  years  —  have  been  given  me  here.  I  married  young  — " 

"  One  moment,  Mark.     Before  you  came  to  us  the  Bishop 


WESTWAYS  243 

wrote  me  in  confidence  of  your  life.  Not  even  Mrs.  Penhallow 
has  seen  that  letter." 

"  Then  you  knew  —  but  not  all.  Now  I  have  had  a  sad  relief. 
He  told  you  of  —  well,  of  my  life,  of  my  mother's  hopeless  in 
sanity  —  and  the  rest." 

«Yes  — yes  — all,  I  believe  —  all." 

"  Not  quite  all.  I  have  spent  a  part  at  least  of  every  August 
with  her;  now  at  last  she  is  dead.  But  my  family  story  has  left 
with  me  the  fear  of  dying  like  my  brothers  or  of  becoming  as  she 
became.  When  I  came  to  you  I  was  a  lonely  soul,  sick  in  mind 
and  weak  in  body.  I  am  better  —  far  better  —  and  now  with 
some  renewal  of  hope  and  courage  I  shall  face  my  world  again. 
You  have  had  —  you  will  have  charity  for  my  days  of  melan 
choly,  I  never  believed  that  a  priest  should  marry  —  and  yet  I 
did.  I  suffered,  and  never  again  can  I  dream  of  love.  I  am 
doubly  armed  by  memory  and  by  the  horror  of  continuing  a  race 
doomed  to  disaster.  There  you  have  it  all  to  my  relief.  There 
is  some  mysterious  consolation  in  unloading  one's  mind.  How 
good  you  have  been  to  me!  and  I  have  been  so  useless  —  so 
little  of  what  I  might  have  been." 

Penhallow  rose,  set  a  hand  on  Eivers's  shoulder,  seeing  the 
sweat  on  his  forehead  and  the  appeal  of  the  sad  eyes  turned  up 
to  meet  his  gaze.  "  What,"  he  said,  "  would  our  children  have 
been  without  you?  God  knows  I  have  been  a  better  man  for 
your  company,  and  the  mills  —  the  village  —  how  can  you  fail 
to  see  what  you  have  done — " 

"  ISTo  —  no  —  I  am  a  failure.  It  may  be  that  the  moods  of 
self-reproach  are  morbid.  That  too  torments  me.  Even  to-day 
I  was  thinking  of  how  Christ  would  have  dealt  with  that 
miserable  man,  Peter  Lamb,  and  how  uncharitable  I  was,  how 
crude,  how  void  of  sympathy  — " 

«  YOU  —  you  — "  said  Penhallow,  as  he  moved  away.  "  My 
own  regret  is  that  I  did  not  turn  him  over  to  the  law.  Well, 
points  of  view  do  differ  curiously.  We  will  let  him  drop.  He 


244  WESTWAYS 

will  come  to  grief  some  day.  And  now  take  my  thanks  and 
my  dear  Ann's  for  what  you  have  told  me.  Let  us  drop  that 
too.  Take  a  pipe." 

"  No,  I  must  go.  I  am  the  easier  in  my  mind,  but  I  am  tired 
and  not  at  all  in  the  pipe  mood."  He  went  out  through  the 
hall,  and  with  a  hasty  "  good-night "  to  his  hostess  and  "  pleasant 
dreams  —  or  none,"  went  slowly  down  the  avenue. 

The  woman  he  left,  with  her  knitting  needles  at  rest  a  mo 
ment,  was  considering  the  man  and  his  moods  with  such  in 
tuitive  sympathy  and  comprehension  as  belongs  to  the  sex  which 
is  physiologically  the  more  subject  to  abrupt  changes  in  the  cli 
mate  of  the  mind.  As  her  husband  entered,  she  began  anew 
the  small  steadying  industry  for  which  man  has  no  substi 
tute. 

"Upon  my  word,  James,  when  you  desire  to  exchange  con 
fidences,  you  must  get  further  away  from  me." 

"  You  don't  mean  me  to  believe  you  overheard  our  talk  in  the 
library,  with  the  door  closed  and  the  curtain  across  it."  Her 
acuteness  of  hearing  often  puzzled  him,  and  he  had  always  to 
ask  for  proof. 

She  nodded  gay  assurance,  and  said  again,  ceasing  to  knit,  "  I 
overheard  too  much  —  oh,  not  all  —  bits  —  enough  to  trouble 
me.  I  moved  away  so  as  not  to  hear.  All  I  care  to  know  is 
how  to  be  of  real  service  to  a  friend  to  whom  we  owe  so  much." 

"I  want  you  —  in  fact,  Mark  wants  you  —  to  hear  in  full 
what  you  know  in  part." 

"  Well,  James,  I  have  very  little  curiosity  about  the  details  of 
the  misfortunes  of  my  friends  unless  to  know  is  to  obtain  means 
of  helpfulness." 

"You  won't  get  any  here,  I  fear,  but  as  he  has  been  often 
strange  and  depressed  and,  as  he  says,  unresponsive  to  your  kind 
ness,  he  does  want  you  now  to  see  what  cause  there  was." 

"  Very  well,  if  he  wants  it.     I  see  you  have  a  letter." 

"  Yes,  I  kept  it.     It  was  marked  strictly  confidential  —  I  hate 


WESTWAYS  245 

that  — "  She  smiled  as  he  added,  "  It  seems  to  imply  the  pos 
sibility  of  indiscretion  on  my  part." 

"  Oh,  James !  Oh,  you  dear  man !  "  and  she  laughed  out 
right,  liking  to  tease  where  she  deeply  loved,  knowing  him 
through  and  through,  as  he  never  could  know  her.  Then  she 
saw  that  he  was  not  in  the  mood  for  jesting  with  an  edge  to  it; 
nor  was  she.  "  At  all  events,  you  did  not  let  me  see  that  let 
ter  —  now  I  am  to  see  it." 

"  Yes,  you  are  to  see  it.     You  might  at  any  time  have  seen  it." 

"  Yes,  read  it  to  me." 

"  When  our  good  Bishop  sent  Mark  Rivers  here  to  us,  he 
wrote  me  this  letter — " 

"Well,  go  on." 

"  MY  DEAR  SIR  :  I  send  you  the  one  of  my  young  clergy 
with  whom  I  am  the  most  reluctant  to  part.  You  will  soon 
learn  why,  and  learning  will  be  thankful.  But  to  make  clear 
to  you  why  I  urge  him  —  in  fact,  order  him  to  go  —  requires  a 
word  of  explanation.  He  is  now  only  twenty-six  years  of  age 
but  looks  older.  He  married  young  and  not  wisely  a  woman 
who  lived  a  childlike  dissatisfied  life,  and  died  after  two  years. 
One  of  his  brothers  died  an  epileptic;  the  other,  a  promising 
lawyer,  became  insane  and  killed  himself.  This  so  affected  their 
widowed  mother  that  she  fell  into  a  speechless  melancholy  and 
has  ever  since  been  in  the  care  of  nurses  in  a  farmer's  family  — 
a  hopeless  case.  I  became  of  late  alarmed  at  his  increasing  de 
pression  and  evident  failure  in  bodily  strength.  He  was  ad 
vised  to  take  a  small  country  parish,  and  so  I  send  him  to  you 
and  my  friend,  Mrs.  Penhallow,  sure  that  he  will  give  as  much 
as  he  gets.  I  need  not  say  more.  He  is  well  worth  saving  — 
one  of  God's  best  —  with  too  exacting  a  conscience  —  learned, 
eloquent  and  earnest,  and  to  end,  a  gentleman." 

"  There  is  a  lot  more  about  Indian  missions,  which  I  think 
are  hopeless,  but  I  sent  him  a  cheque,  of  course." 


246  WESTWAYS 

"  I  supposed,  James,  that  his  depression  was  owing  to  his  want 
of  vigorous  health.  Now  I  see,  but  how  very  sorrowful  it  is! 
What  else  is  there?  I  did  not  mean  to  listen,  but  something 
was  said  about  his  mother." 

"  Yes.  He  has  spent  with  her  a  large  part  of  every  August 
—  he  called  it  his  holiday.  My  God,  Ann !  Poor  fellow !  This 
August  she  died.  It  must  be  a  relief." 

"  Perhaps." 

"  Oh,  surely.     This  is  all,  Ann." 

"  I  wish  you  had  been  less  discreet  long  ago,  James.  I  think 
that  the  Bishop  knowing  how  sensitive,  how  very  reticent  Mark 
is,  meant  only  that  he  should  not  learn  what  was  confided  to 
you." 

"I  never  thought  of  that,  Ann.     You  may  be  right." 

She  made  no  further  comment,  except  to  say,  "  But  to  know 
clears  the  air  and  leaves  me  free  to  talk  to  him  at  need."  Pen- 
hallow  felt  that  where  he  himself  might  be  a  useless  confessor, 
his  wife  was  surely  to  be  trusted. 

"If,  Ann,  the  man  could  only  be  got  on  to  the  back  of  a 
horse — "  She  won  the  desirable  relief  of  laughter,  and  the 
eyes  that  were  full  of  the  tears  of  pity  for  this  disastrous  life 
overflowed  of  a  sudden  with  mirth  at  the  Squire's  one  remedy 
for  the  troubles  of  this  earthly  existence. 

"  Oh,  I  am  in  earnest,"  he  said.  "  Now  I  must  write  to 
John." 

When  after  a  week  or  more  she  did  talk  to  Mark  Eivers,  he 
was  the  better  for  it  and  felt  free  to  speak  to  her  as  a  younger 
man  may  to  an  older  woman  and  can  rarely  do  to  the  closest  of 
male  friends,  for,  after  all,  most  friendships  have  their  personal 
limitations  and  the  man  who  has  not  both  men  and  women 
friends  may  at  some  time  miss  what  the  double  intimacies  alone 
can  give. 

The  uneasy  sense  of  something  lost  was  more  felt  than  men- 


WE&TWAYS  247 

tioned  that  fall  at  Grey  Pine,  where  quick  feet  on  the  stair  and 
the  sound  of  young  laughter  were  no  longer  heard.  Elvers  saw 
too  how  distinctly  the  village  folk  missed  these  gay  young 
people.  Mrs.  Crocker,  of  the  shop  where  everything  was 
to  be  bought,  bewailed  herself  to  Eivers,  who  was  the  receiver 
of  all  manner  of  woes.  "  Mrs.  Penhallow  is  getting  to  be  so 
particular  no  one  knows  where  to  find  her.  You  would  never 
think  it,  sir,  but  she  says  my  tea  is  not  fit  to  drink,  and  she  is 
going  to  get  her  sugar  from  Philadelphia.  It  's  awful !  She 
says  it  is  n't  as  sweet  as  it  used  to  be  —  as  if  sugar  was  n't  al 
ways  the  same  — " 

"  Which  it  is  n't,"  laughed  Eivers. 

"  And  my  tea !  —  Then  here  comes  in  the  Squire  to  get  a 
dog-collar,  and  roars  to  my  poor  deaf  Job,  ( that  last  tea  was  the 
best  we  have  ever  had.  Send  five  pounds  to  Dr.  McGregor  from 
me  —  charge  it  to  me  —  and  a  pound  to  Mrs.  Lamb.'  It  was  n't 
but  ten  minutes  later.  Do  set  down,  Mr.  Eivers."  He  ac 
cepted  the  chair  she  dusted  with  her  apron  and  quietly  enjoyed 
the  little  drama.  The  facts  were  plain,  the  small  influential 
motives  as  clear. 

Secure  of  her  hearer,  Mrs.  Crocker  went  on :  "I  was  saying 
it  was  n't  ten  minutes  later  that  same  morning  Mrs.  Penhallow 
came  down  on  me  about  the  sugar  and  the  tea  —  worst  she  ever 
had.  She  —  oh,  Lord !  —  She  would  n't  listen,  and  declared 
that  she  would  return  the  tea  and  get  sugar  from  town." 

"  Pretty  bad  that,"  said  Eivers,  sympathetic.  "  Did  she  send 
back  the  tea?" 

"  No,  sir.  In  came  Pole  grinning  that  very  evening.  He 
said  she  had  made  an  awful  row  about  the  last  leg  of  mutton  he 
sent.  Pole  said  she  was  that  bad  —  She  did  n't  show  no  tem 
per,  but  she  kept  on  a  sort  of  quiet  mad  about  the  mutton." 

" Well,  what  did  Pole  do?" 

"  You  M  never  guess.  It  was  one  of  the  Squire's  own  sheep. 
Pole  he  just  sent  her  the  other  leg  of  the  same  sheep ! " 


248  WESTWAYS 

Again  the  rector  laughed.  "  Well,  and  what  did  Mrs.  Pen- 
hallow  do?" 

"  She  told  him  that  was  all  right.  Pole  he  guessed  I  'd  bet 
ter  send  her  a  pound  of  the  same  tea." 

"Did  you?" 

"I  did  —  ain't  heard  yet.  Now  what  would  you  advise? 
Never  saw  her  this  way  before." 

"  Well,"  said  Elvers,  "  tell  her  how  the  town  misses  Leila  and 
John." 

"  They  do.  I  do  wonder  if  it 's  just  missing  those  children 
upsets  her  so." 

Whether  his  advice  were  taken  or  not,  Kivers  did  not  learn 
directly,  but  Mrs.  Crocker  said  things  were  better  when  next 
they  met,  and  the  clergyman  asked  no  questions. 

Penhallow  had  his  own  distracting  troubles.  The  financial 
condition  which  became  serious  in  the  spring  and  summer  of 
1857  was  beginning  to  cause  him  alarm,  and  soon  after  the  new 
year  came  in  he  felt  obliged  to  talk  over  his  affairs  and  to  advise 
his  wife  to  loan  the  mill  company  money  not  elsewhere  to  be  had 
except  at  ruinous  interest.  She  wished  simply  to  give  him  the 
sum  needed,  but  he  said  no,  and  made  clear  to  her  why  he  re 
quired  help.  She  was  pleased  to  be  consulted,  and  showing,  as 
usual,  notable  comprehension  of  the  business  situation,  at  once 
did  as  he  desired. 

Rivers  not  aware  of  what  was  so  completely  occupying  Pen- 
hallow's  mind,  wondered  later  why  he  would  not  discuss  the  de 
cision  of  the  Supreme  Court  in  the  Dred  Scott  case  and  did  not 
share  his  own  indignation.  "  But,"  he  urged,  "  it  declares  the 
Missouri  Compromise  not  warranted  by  the  Constitution ! " 

"I  can't  talk  about  it,  Mark,"  said  Penhallow,  "I  am  too 
worried  by  my  own  affairs." 

Then  Rivers  asked  no  further  questions;  he  hoped  he  would 
read  the  masterly  dissenting  opinion  of  Justices  McClean  and 
Curtis.  Penhallow  returned  impatiently  that  he  had  no  time, 


WESTWAYS  249 

and  that  the  slavery  question  were  better  left  to  the  decision  of 
"  Chief  Justice  Time." 

It  was  unlike  the  Squire,  and  Eivers  perplexed  and  more  or 
less  ignorant  concerning  his  friend's  affairs  left  him,  in  wonder 
that  what  was  so  angrily  disturbing  the  Northern  States  should 
quite  fail  to  interest  Penhallow. 

Meanwhile  there  were  pleasant  letters  from  Leila.  She 
thought  it  hard  to  be  denied  correspondence  with  John,  and  wrote 
of  the  satisfaction  felt  by  her  Uncle  Henry  and  his  friends  in 
regard  to  the  Dred  Scott  decision.  She  had  been  wise  enough 
to  take  her  Uncle  Charles's  advice  and  to  hold  her  Republican 
tongue,  as  he  with  a  minority  in  Baltimore  was  wisely  doing. 

The  money  crisis  came  with  full  force  while  the  affairs  of 
Kansas  were  troubling  both  North  and  South.  In  August  there 
was  widespread  ruin.  Banks  failed,  money  was  held  hard,  con 
tracts  were  broken  and  to  avoid  a  worse  calamity  the  Penhallow 
mills  discharged  half  of  the  men.  Meanwhile  under  Governor 
Walker's  just  and  firm  rule,  for  a  brief  season  '  Bleeding  Kan 
sas  '  was  no  longer  heard  of.  To  add  to  the  confusion  of  parties, 
Douglas  broke  with  the  Administration  and  damaged  the  power 
ful  Democratic  machine  when  he  came  out  with  changed  opin 
ions  and  dauntless  courage  against  the  new  Lecompton  consti 
tution. 

In  June  Leila's  school  life  came  to  a  close,  and  to  the  delight 
of  her  relations  she  came  home.  When  that  afternoon  Rivers 
came  into  the  hall,  a  tall  young  woman  rose  of  a  sudden  and 
swept  him  a  curtsey,  saying,  "  I  am  Leila  Grey,  sir.  Please  to 
be  glad  to  see  me." 

"  Good  gracious,  Leila !  You  are  a  woman ! " 

"  And  what  else  should  I  be?  " 

"  Alas !  what  ?  My  little  friend  and  scholar  —  oh !  the  evil 
magic  of  time." 

"  Oh !  Friend  —  friend !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  then,  now,  and 
always."  She  gave  him  both  hands. 


250  WESTWAYS 

"  Yes,  always,"  he  said  quickly.  "  And  this/'  he  said  to  him 
self,  "  is  the  child  who  used  to  give  me  the  morning  kiss.  It  is 
very  wonderful !  " 

"  I  really  think,  Aunt  Ann,  that  Mr.  Eivers  just  for  a  moment 
did  not  know  me." 

"  Indeed !     That  must  have  amused  him." 

"  Oh,  here  is  James."  There  was  laughter  at  dinner  and  a 
little  gay  venture  into  the  politics  of  Leila's  school,  which  ap 
peared  to  have  been  disagreeable  to  Miss  Grey. 

Rivers  watched  the  animated  face  as  she  gave  her  account  of 
how  the  school  took  a  vote  in  the  garden  and  were  all  Democrats. 
The  Squire  a  little  puzzled  by  his  wife's  evident  disinclination  to 
interfere  with  the  dinner-table  politics  got  a  faint  suspicion  that 
here  had  come  into  Grey  Pine  a  new  and  positive  influence.  He 
was  more  surprised  that  Mrs.  Ann  asked,  "What  did  you  say, 
Leila?" 

"  I  ?     Now,  Aunt  Ann,  what  would  you  have  done  or  said  ?  " 

"  Oh,  voted  with  the  Democrats,  of  course." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Penhallow !  "  cried  the  Rector. 

The  Squire  much  amused  asked,  "Well,  Leila,  did  you  run 
away?" 

"I  —  Oh,  Uncle  Jim !  I  said  I  was  a  democrat  —  I  voted 
the  Democratic  ticket." 

"  Did  you  ?  "  exclaimed  Rivers. 

"  So  James  Penhallow  and  my  brother  Charles  have  lost  a 
Eepublican  vote,"  laughed  Ann. 

"  But,  Aunt  Ann,  I  added  that  I  was  a  Douglas  Democrat." 

The  Squire  exploded  into  a  peal  of  laughter.  Ann  said,  "  For 
shame ! " 

"  They  decided  to  lynch  me,  but  no  one  of  them  could  catch 
me  before  Miss  Mayo  appeared  on  the  playground  and  we  all 
became  demure  as  pussy  cats.  She  was  cross." 

"  She  was  quite  right,"  said  her  aunt.  "  I  do  not  see  why  girls 
should  be  discussing  politics." 


WESTWAYS  251 

Rivers  became  silently  regardant,  and  Penhallow  frowning  sat 
still.  The  anticipated  bolt  had  fallen  —  it  fell  in  vain.  Leila 
did  not  accept  the  decree,  but  defended  herself  gaily.  "  Aunt 
Ann,"  she  said,  "  Douglas  is  right,  or  at  least  half  right. 
And  do  tell  me  how  old  must  a  girl  be  before  she  has  a  right  to 
think?" 

"  Think !  Oh,  if  you  like,  think.  But,  my  dear  Leila,  your 
uncle,  Mr.  Rivers  and  I,  although  we  think  and  hold  very  diverse 
opinions,  feel  that  on  such  matters  discussion  only  leaves  a 
sting,  and  so  we  tacitly  leave  it  out  of  our  talk.  There,  my 
dear,  you  have  my  opinion." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence.  Leila  looked  up.  "  Oh,  my 
dear  Aunt  Ann,  if  you  were  on  the  side  of  old  Nick,  Mr.  Rivers 
wouldn't  care  a  penny  less  for  you,  and  I  never  could  see  why 
to  differ  in  talk  about  politics  is  going  to  hurt  past  anything 
love  could  accept.  Aunt  Helen  and  Uncle  Charles  both  talk 
politics  and  they  do  love  one  another,  although  Aunt  Helen  is 
tremendously  Democratic." 
"  My  dear  Leila !  " 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Ann !  I  will  not  say  a  word  more  if  you  want  me 
to  hold  my  tongue." 

"  Would  n't  the  other  way  be  more  wholesome  on  the  whole  ?  " 
said  Rivers. 

"  I  have  long  thought  so,"  said  the  Squire.  "  There  are  ways 
and  ways  — " 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Ann.  "  Shall  you  ride  with  your  uncle  to 
morrow,  Leila  ?  " 

"  Oh,  shall  I !  I  long  for  it  —  I  dream  about  it.  May  I  ride 
Dixy,  Uncle  Jim  ?  " 

"Yes,  if  you  have  a  riding-habit  you  can  wear.  We  will  see 
to  that.  You  have  spread  a  good  bit,  but  I  fancy  we  can  man- 
age." 

"  And  how  is  Pole,  aunt ;  and  the  doctor  and  Crocker  and 
his  fat  wife  —  oh,  and  everybody  ?  " 


252  WESTWAYS 

"  Oh,  much  as  usual.  We  had  a  skirmish  about  mutton,  but 
the  last  Pole  sent  is  good  —  in  fact,  excellent.  He  needs  watch 
ing." 

Then  the  talk  fell  on  the  lessened  work  at  the  mills,  and 
there  being  now  four  players  the  Squire  had  his  whist  again,  and 
later  carried  Eivers  away  to  smoke  in  the  library,  leaving  Ann 
and  Leila. 

As  the  library  door  closed,  Leila  dropped  on  a  cushion  at  her 
aunt's  feet,  and  with  her  head  in  Ann's  lap  expressed  her  con 
tentment  by  a  few  moments  of  silence.  Then  sitting  up,  she 
said,  "  I  am  so  happy  I  should  like  to  purr.  I  was  naughty  at 
dinner,  but  it  was  just  because  I  wanted  to  make  Uncle  Jim 
laugh.  He  looks —  Don't  you  think  he  looks  worried,  aunt? 
Is  it  the  mills  and  —  the  men  out  of  work  ?  Dear  Aunt  Ann, 
how  can  one  keep  on  not  talking  about  politics  and  things  that 
are  next  to  one's  religion  —  and  concerning  our  country  —  my 
country  ?  " 

Ann  made  no  direct  reply,  but  went  back  to  what  was  nearer 
than  any  creed  of  politics.  "Yes,  dear.  When  one  big  thing 
worries  James,  then  everything  worries  him.  The  state  of  the 
money  market  makes  all  business  difficult,  and  he  feels  uncom 
fortable  because  the  mill  company  is  in  want  of  work,  and  be 
cause  their  debts  are  overdue  and  not  likely  to  be  paid  in  full 
or  at  all." 

"  I  wish  I  could  do  something  to  help  Uncle  Jim." 

"  You  can  ride  with  him  and  I  cannot.  You  can  talk  to  him 
without  limitations;  I  cannot.  He  is  reasonable  about  this 
grave  question  of  slavery.  He  does  not  think  it  right;  I  do  — 
oh,  good  for  master  and  best  for  the  black.  When,  soon  after 
our  marriage,  we  spoke  of  it,  he  was  positive  and  told  me  to 
read  what  Washington  had  said  about  slavery.  We  were  both 
young  and  said  angry  things  which  left  a  pang  of  remembrance. 
After  that  we  were  careful.  But  now  this  terrible  question 


WESTWAYS  253 

comes  up  in  the  village  and  in  every  paper.  It  will  get  worse, 
and  I  see  no  end  to  it." 

Leila  was  silent,  remembering  too  her  aunt's  share  in  Josiah's 
escape.  The  advice  implied  in  her  aunt's  frank  talk  she  saw 
was  to  be  accepted.  "  I  will  remember,  Aunt  Ann."  At  least 
she  was  free  to  talk  to  her  uncle. 

"  Has  any  one  heard  of  Josiah  ?  "  asked  Leila. 

"  No,  I  was  sorry  for  him.  He  had  so  many  good  traits.  I 
think  he  would  have  been  more  happy  if  he  had  remained  with 
his  master." 

Leila  had  her  doubts,  but  was  self-advised  to  say  no  more 
than,  "  I  often  think  of  him.  Now  I  shall  go  to  bed." 

"Yes,  you  must  be  tired." 

"  I  am  never  tired,  but  to  be  free  to  sit  up  late  or  go  to  bed 
and  read  what  I  want  to  —  and  to  ride!  Good-night.  I  can 
write  to  John  —  now  there  ?s  another  bit  of  freedom.  Oh,  dear, 
how  delightful  it  all  is ! "  She  went  upstairs  thinking  how 
hard  it  would  be  to  keep  off  of  the  forbidden  ground,  and  after 
all  was  her  aunt  entirely  wise  ?  Well,  there  was  Uncle  Jim  and 
John. 

While  this  talk  went  on  the  rector  alone  with  his  host  said, 
"You  are  evidently  to  have  a  fresh  and  very  positive  factor  in 
your  household  life  — " 

"Hush,"  said  the  Squire.  "Talk  low  — Ann  Penhallow  has 
incredible  hearing." 

"  True  —  quite  true  —  I  forgot.  How  amazingly  the  child 
has  changed.  She  will  be  a  useful  ferment,  I  fancy.  How 
strange  it  is  always  —  this  abrupt  leap  of  the  girl  into  the  heri 
tage  of  womanhood.  The  boy  matures  slowly,  by  imperceptible 
gradations.  Now  Leila  seems  to  me  years  older  than  John, 
and  the  change  is  really  somewhat  startling;  but  then  I  have 
seen  very  little  of  young  women.  There  is  the  girl,  the  maid, 
the  woman/' 


254  WESTWAYS 

"  Oh,  but  there  is  boy,  lad,  and  man." 

"  Not  comparable,  Squire ;  continuously  growing  in  one  case, 
and  in  the  other  developmental  surprises  and,  ever  after,  fall  and 
rise  of  energy.  The  general  trouble  about  understanding  women 
is  that  men  judge  them  by  some  one  well-known  woman.  I 
heard  a  famous  doctor  say  that  no  man  need  pretend  to  under 
stand  women  unless  he  had  been  familiar  with  sick  women." 

The  Squire  recalling  the  case  of  Ann  Penhallow  was  silent. 
The  clergyman  thinking  too  of  his  own  bitter  experience  lapsed 
into  contemplative  cleaning  of  a  much  valued  meerschaum  pipe. 
The  Squire  not  given  to  morbid  or  other  psychological  studies 
made  brief  reply.  "  I  hope  that  Leila  will  remain  half  boy." 

"  Too  late,  Squire  —  too  late.  You  've  got  a  woman  on  your 
hands.  There  will  be  two  heads  to  Grey  Pine." 

"  And  may  I  ask  where  do  I  come  in  ?  "  He  was  at  times  al 
most  dull-witted,  and  yet  in  danger  swift  to  think  and  quick  to 
act. 

Rivers  filling  the  well-cleaned  pipe  looked  up.  There  was 
something  of  unwonted  gaiety  in  the  moving  face-lines  which 
frame  the  eyes  and  give  to  them  the  appearance  of  change  of 
expression.  "  My  dear  friend,  you  were  as  dough  that  is  kneaded 
in  the  hands  of  Leila,  the  girl ;  you  will  be  no  less  so  now  in  the 
hands  of  this  splendid  young  woman." 

"  Oh,  now  —  by  George  !  Rivers,  you  must  think  me  — " 

"Think  you!  Oh,  like  other  men.  And  as  concerns  Mrs. 
Ann,  there  will  sometimes  be  a  firm  alliance  with  Leila  before 
which  you  will  wilt  —  or  —  no,  I  will  not  venture  further." 

"  You  had  better  not,  or  you  may  fail  like  other  prophets." 

"  No,  I  was  thinking  as  you  spoke  of  the  fact  that  Leila  has 
seen  a  good  deal  of  a  very  interesting  society  in  Baltimore,  and 
has  had  the  chance,  and  I  am  sure  the  desire,  to  hear  more  of 
the  wild  Southern  party-talk  than  most  girls  have." 

"  Yes,  she  has  been  in  both  camps." 

"  And  always  was  and  is,  I  fancy,  eagerly  curious  in  the  best 


WESTWAYS  255 

sense.     More  than  my  dear  Mrs.  Ann,  she  has  wide  intellectual 
sympathies  —  and  appetites/' 

"  That 's  a  very  fine  phrase,  Mark/' 

"  Is  n't  it,  Squire  ?  I  was  also  comparing  in  my  mind  John's 
want  of  association  with  men  of  his  own  social  accident  of  posi 
tion.  He  lived  here  with  some  rough  country  lads  and  with 
you  and  me.  He  has  had  no  such  chance  as  Leila's." 

"  Oh,  the  Point  will  mature  him.  Then  two  years  on  the 
Plains  —  and  after  that  the  mills." 

"Perhaps  —  two  years!  But,  Penhallow,  who  can  dare  to 
predict  what  God  has  in  store  for  us.  Two  years !  " 

"Yes  —  too  true  —  who  can!  Just  now  we  are  financially 
diseased,  and  men  are  thinking  more  of  the  bread  and  butter 
and  debts  of  to-morrow  than  of  Mr.  Buchanan  in  the  toils  of  his 
Southern  Cabinet." 

"  That 's  so.     Good-night." 

Leila  took  upstairs  with  her  John's  last  letter  to  her  aunt, 
and  sitting  down  read  it  eagerly: 

"WEST  POINT. 

"  MY  DEAR  AUNT  :  The  life  here,  as  I  wrote  you,  is  some 
thing  almost  monastic  in  its  systematic  regularity,  and  its  des 
potic  claims  on  one's  time.  It  leaves  small  leisure  for  letters 
except  on  Sundays ;  and  if  a  fellow  means  to  be  well  placed,  even 
then  he  is  wise  to  do  some  work.  The  outside  world  seems  far 
away,  and  we  read  and  can  read  few  papers. 

"  I  am  of  Uncle  Jim's  politics,  but  although  there  are  many 
pretty  sensitive  cadets  from  the  South,  some  of  them  my  friends, 
there  is  so  pleasant  a  camaraderie  among  us  that  there  are  few 
quarrels,  and  certainly  none  of  the  bitterness  of  the  two  sec 
tions. 

"  I  think  I  may  have  told  you  that  we  have  no  furlough  un 
til  we  have  been  here  two  years,  but  I  hope  some  time  for  a 
visit  from  Uncle  Jim  and  you,  or  at  least  from  him  and  Leila. 
How  she  would  enjoy  it!  The  wonderful  beauty  of  the  great 


256  WESTWAYS 

river  in  the  embrace  of  these  wooded  mountains,  the  charm  of 
the  heroic  lives  it  has  nourished  and  the  romance  of  its  early 
history  are  delightful — " 

"  Enjoy  it/'  murmured  Leila,  "  oh,  would  I  not  indeed ! " 
Then  she  read  on : 

"  Tell  Leila  to  write  me  all  about  the  horses  and  the  town, 
and  if  Josiah  has  been  heard  of.  Tom  McGregor  writes  me  that 
after  he  is  graduated  next  year,  he  means  to  try  for  a  place  in 
the  army  and  get  a  year  or  two  of  army  life  before  he  settles 
down  to  help  his  father.  So  it  takes  only  two  years  to  learn 
how  to  keep  people  alive  and  four  to  learn  how  to  kill  them." 

"I  wonder  who  John  means  to  kill."  She  sat  in  thought  a 
while,  and  rising  to  undress  said,  "  He  must  be  greatly  changed, 
my  dear  boy,  Jack.  Jack !  " 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  widespread  disapproval  at  the  North  of  the  Dred  Scott 
Decision  was  somewhat  less  manifest  in  the  middle  months 
of  the  year  because  of  the  general  financial  distress,  which 
diverted  attention  from  what  was  so  agreeable  to  the  slave 
States,  where  in  fact  the  stringency  in  the  money  market  had 
been  felt  but  little. 

At  Grey  Pine,  as  elsewhere  in  Pennsylvania,  the  evil  influence 
of  the  depression  in  trade  was  felt  as  never  before.  More  men 
were  discharged,  and  Penhallow  and  his  wife  practised  economy 
which  to  him  was  difficult  and  distasteful.  To  limit  expendi 
ture  on  herself  was  of  little  moment  to  Ann  Penhallow,  but  to 
have  to  limit  her  ability  to  give  where  more  and  more  were 
needing  help  was  to  her  at  least  a  hard  trial.  With  the  spring 
of  1858,  business  had  begun  to  revive,  while  more  bitterness 
arose  when  in  the  senatorial  contest  Stephen  Douglas  encoun 
tered  the  soil-born  vigorous  intellect  of  the  little  known  lawyer 
Lincoln.  The  debate  put  fresh  life  into  the  increasing  power 
of  the  Republican  party  in  the  West. 

"Listen  to  this,"  said  Rivers  to  the  Squire  in  July  of  1858. 
"Here  is  a  new  choice.  Long  ago  I  got  touch  of  this  man, 
when  he  said,  '  A  house  divided  against  itself  cannot  stand/  r' 
He  went  on  to  read  aloud  parts  of  the  famous  speech. 

Leila  sitting  with  them  on  the  porch  looked  round  to  hear 
her  uncle's  comment.  He  said,  "It  is  too  radical,  Rivers.  It 
leaves  no  chance  for  compromise  —  it  is  a  declaration  of  war." 

"  It  is  God's  truth,"  said  Rivers. 

"The  Democrats  will  rejoice,"  said  Penhallow.  "The  Ad 
ministration  will  be  as  I  am  against  Douglas  and  against  this 

257 


258  WESTWAYS 

"  I  wish  he  were  even  more  of  an  abolitionist,  Squire.  The 
right  to  life,  liberty  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness,  ought  to  ap 
ply  to  all  men,  black  and  white." 

"  Yes,  but  are  there  to  be  further  applications.  Shall  your 
free  black  vote  ?  Does  he  say  that  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  do." 

"  Good  gracious !  "  exclaimed  the  Squire.  "  I  move  we  ad 
journ.  Here  comes  Ann." 

Keen  to  have  the  last  word,  Eivers  urged,  "  He  is  not  against 
some  fugitive-slave  law  —  not  for  abolition  of  slavery  in  the 
District  of  Columbia  —  or  the  slave  trade  between  the  States." 

"  But,"  said  Leila,  "  I  read  it  all  last  night  in  my  room.  He 
said  it  was  the  right  and  duty  of  Congress  to  prohibit  slavery 
in  all  the  territories." 

"The  right,"  said  Penhallow,  "  Miss  Politician?" 

"  And  the  duty,"  returned  Rivers.  They  rose  as  Ann  came 
up  the  steps. 

Billy  was  carrying  the  baskets  she  had  emptied  in  the  village, 
and  as  usual  with  Ann  when  there  had  been  much  to  do,  she 
came  home,  Rivers  said,  refreshed  by  the  exercise  of  her  gentle 
despotisms  as  a  man  may  be  by  use  of  competent  muscles.  "  You 
are  all  struck  dumb,"  she  cried.  "  I  smell  the  sulphur  of  bad 
politics." 

"  I  'm  for  Buch  and  Breck,"  said  Billy.  "  Misses  she  give  me 
a  dollar  to  vote  for  Buchanan,  I  know — " 

Leila  delightedly  encouraged  him.     "  Did  you  ?  " 

"No,  it  was  for  poll-tax.  Take  in  those  baskets  at  once," 
said  Ann. 

"  Yes,  ma'am.     Bought  a  fishing-pole." 

The  confusion  of  mind  which  had  made  this  practical  use  of 
Ann's  mild  political  contribution  was  new  to  the  Squire,  and 
deliciously  funny  to  Leila.  Penhallow  laughed  outright. 
Rivers  was  silent  watching  Mrs.  Ann. 

To  his  surprise,  she  said,  "  You  are  bad  —  all  of  you.     If  the 


WESTWAYS  259 

women  could  vote  we  would  cease  to  have  trouble.  It  may 
please  you  all  to  know  that  since  that  idiot  Pole  has  mortgaged 
his  farm  to  Swallow  and  bought  out  the  butcher  at  the  mills, 
he  has  repented  of  his  Democratic  wickedness  and  says,  c  After 
all  the  Squire  was  right/ '' 

"  And  where,  my  dear,  did  you  get  all  this  gossip  ?  "  asked 
Penhallow. 

"It  is  complicated;  ask  Pole." 

"I  could  guess/'  laughed  Leila. 

"  And  I/'  cried  the  Squire. 

<e  You  will  all  suffer/'  cried  Ann,  "  and  don't  complain,  James 
Penhallow,  if  tough  beef  is  the  final  result  of  political  com 
plications."  Whereupon  she  gathered  her  skirts  and  fled  laugh 
ing. 

"  Pole  will  pay  dearly,"  said  the  Squire,  who  was  secretly  se 
curing  meat  for  the  discharged  mill-hands  and  understood  what 
had  influenced  Pole. 

Grey  Pine  and  Westways  during  the  summer  and  fall  of  1858 
felt,  like  many  in  the  Northern  States,  the  need  to  live  with 
economy.  Want  of  employment  added  to  the  unrest,  and  the 
idle  men  found  time  to  discuss  the  angry  politics  which  rang 
through  the  debates  in  the  Senate.  The  changed  tariff  on  iron, 
to  which  Pennsylvania  was  always  selfishly  sensitive,  affected 
the  voting,  and  Penhallow  was  pleased  when  the  Administration 
suffered  disaster  in  the  October  elections.  All  parties  —  Re 
publican,  American  and  Douglas  Democrats  —  united  to  cast 
discredit  on  the  President's  policy,  but  Penhallow  knew  that  the 
change  of  duties  on  iron  had  little  to  do  with  the  far-spread 
ruin  of  trade  and  manufactures  the  result  of  long  credits  and 
the  careless  finance  of  an  over-prosperous  people.  The  electoral 
results  were  looked  upon  as  a  Eepublican  victory.  He  so  ex 
plained  it  on  a  November  afternoon,  as  he  rode  through  the 
still  forest  with  Leila  Grey,  when  the  faint  haze  and  warmer 


260  WESTWAYS 

days  told  of  that  mysterious  arrest  of  decay  we  call  the  Indian 
summer. 

As  they  rode,  the  long  lapses  into  silence  told  of  the  pleasant 
relations  of  two  people  entirely  at  ease  with  one  another.  Now 
it  was  a  question  asked  —  and  now  quick  discussion.  She  had 
slowly  won  with  maidenhood  what  few  children  have,  more  or 
less  of  the  varied  forms  of  imagination,  which  once  had  rather 
amused  or  puzzled  her  in  John  Penhallow.  Her  uncle,  who 
thought  slowly  unless  in  danger,  rode  on  with  his  mind  upon 
a  small  order  for  rails  and  was  far  from  feeling  the  mystery  of 
the  autumn  days.  The  girl  beside  him  was  reading  into  the 
slow  rocking  to  and  fro  of  the  falling  leaves  some  reluctance  to 
become  forever  a  part  of  the  decaying  mould. 

"Please,  Uncle  Jim,  don't  trot.  Let  them  walk.  It  is  so 
full  of  tender  deaths." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Leila  ?  —  as  if  death  were  ever  beautiful 
or  tender.  You  and  your  aunt  bother  me  with  your  absurd 
manufacture  of  some  relation  to  nature — " 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Jim !  Once  I  saw  you  pat  a  big  pine  and  say 
'how  are  you,  old  fellow?'  I  told  John  it  was  nonsense,  but 
he  said  it  was  fine." 

"  Oh,  but  that  was  a  tree." 

Leila  laughed.    "  Of  that  there  can  be  no  doubt." 

"Well,  and  what  of  it?  It  was  half  fun.  You  and  John 
and  your  aunt  sit  up  and  explode  into  enthusiasm  over  verse, 
when  it  could  all  be  said  far  better  in  simple  prose." 

"  I  should  like  to  put  that  to  the  test  some  night." 

"  Not  I,  Miss  Grey.  I  have  no  poetry  in  me.  I  am  cold 
prose  through  and  through." 

"  You  —  you !  "  she  cried.  "  Some  people  like  poetry  — 
some  people  are  poetry." 

"What  — what?" 

"  Was  n't  your  hero  Cromwell  just  magnificent,  stately  blank 
verse?" 


WESTWAYS  261 

"  What  confounded  nonsense !  "  She  glanced  at  the  manly 
figure  with  the  cavalry  seat,  erect,  handsome,  to  her  heroic  — 
an  ideal  gentleman  in  all  his  ways.  "  Stuff  and  nonsense !  "  he 
added. 

"  Well,    Uncle    Jim  —  to   talk    prose  —  the    elections    please 

you?" 

"  Yes.  The  North  is  stiffening  up.  It  is  as  well.  Did  you 
see  what  Seward  said,  '  An  irrepressible  conflict/  and  that  man 
Lincoln,  '  The  house  divided  against  itself  cannot  stand '  ?  Now 
I  should  like  to  think  them  both  wrong." 

"  And  do  you  not  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No.  Some  devilish  fate  seems  to  be  at  the  helm,  as  Eivera 
says.  We  avoid  one  rock  to  fall  into  wild  breakers  of  exaspera 
tion;  with  fugitive-slave  cases  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other 
importations  of  slaves.  Where  will  it  end  ?  " 

"  But  what  would  you  do,  uncle  ?  " 

"  Oh,  amend  the  Fugitive- Slave  Law.  Try  the  cases  by  jury. 
Let  slavery  alone  to  cure  itself,  as  it  would  in  time.  It  would 
if  we  let  it  alone." 

"  And  Kansas  ?  "  asked  Leila. 

"  Oh,  Douglas  is  right,  but  his  view  of  the  matter  will  never 
satisfy  the  South  nor  the  extreme  men  at  the  North.  My  dear 
Leila,  the  days  are  dark  and  will  be  darker,  and  worst  of  all 
they  really  think  we  are  afraid."  His  face  grew  stern.  "  I 
hate  to  talk  about  it.  Have  you  heard  from  John  lately  ? " 

"  Yes,  only  last  week." 

"  And  you  write  to  him,  of  course  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  answer  his  letters.  Aunt  Ann  writes  every  Sun 
day.  Are  things  better  at  the  mills  ?  " 

"  Rather.  Now  for  a  gallop  —  it  puts  me  always  in  a  more 
hopeful  humour.  Don't  let  your  aunt  overwork  you,  Leila ;  she 
will." 

"  She  can't,  Uncle  Jim."  It  was  true.  Leila  gently  rebelled 
against  incessant  good  works  —  sewing-classes  for  the  village 


262  WESTWAYS 

girls,  Sunday  school,  and  the  endless  errands  which  left  no 
time  for  books.  Her  occasional  walks  with  Marks  Eivers  en 
abled  her  to  form  some  clear  idea  of  the  difference  of  opinion 
which  so  sharply  divided  parties  north  of  Maryland.  His  own 
belief  was  that  slavery  was  a  sinful  thing  with  which  there 
should  be  no  truce  and  no  patient  waiting  upon  the  influence 
of  time.  He  combated  the  Squire's  equally  simple  creed  — 
the  unbroken  union  of  the  States.  She  fought  the  rector  hard, 
to  his  delight.  Far  more  pleasant  on  three  afternoons  in  the 
week  were  the  lessons  in  Italian  with  her  aunt,  and  Kivers's 
brilliant  commentary  on  Dante.  The  months  ran  on  into  and 
through  the  winter,  with  an  economical  Christmas  to  Ann's  re 
gret. 

As  a  rule  the  political  contests  of  our  country  go  on  without 
deeply  affecting  the  peace  of  families.  In  the  cotton  States 
opinion  was  or  had  to  appear  to  be  at  one.  In  the  North  the 
bitterness  and  unreason  of  limited  groups  of  anti-slavery  people 
excited  the  anger  of  men  who  saw  in  their  ways  and  speeches 
continual  sources  of  irritation,  which  made  all  compromise 
difficult.  The  strife  of  parties  where  now  men  were  earnest  as 
they  never  were  before  since  revolutionary  days  was  felt  most 
seriously  in  the  border  States. 

"James,"  said  Ann  after  breakfast,  when  Leila  had  gone 
to  dress  for  a  ride,  "  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  I  have 
had  this  morning  letters  from  both  my  brothers.  I  wrote, 
you  know,  asking  them  to  bring  the  girls  to  us.  Leila  is  too 
much  alone.  They  both  decline.  Charles  has  come  out  for  the 
Eepublicans,  and  now  —  it  is  too  dreadful  —  they  do  not 
speak.  Charles  tells  me  there  is  a  strong  minority  with  him 
and  that  the  State  is  not  all  for  the  South.  I  cannot  believe 
it," 

"  Indeed !  "  He  was  not  altogether  displeased.  "  I  am  sorry 
for  you,  Ann,  as  their  sister." 


WESTWAYS  263 

€<  And  as  a  man,  you  are  not !  Where  will  it  all  end  ?  There 
is  neither  charity  nor  reason  at  the  North.  I  am  disturbed 
for  our  country." 

"You  ask  where  it  will  all  end.  Where  will  it  end?  God 
alone  knows.  Let  us  at  least  wait  quietly  the  course  of  events  we 
cannot  control.  I  at  least  try  to  be  reasonable."  He  left  her  stand 
ing  in  tears,  for  which  he  had  no  comfort  in  thought  or  word. 
Over  all  the  land,  North  and  South,  there  were  such  differences 
of  opinion  between  wife  and  husband,  brothers,  friends  and  kins 
men.  As  he  stood  at  the  door  about  to  ride  to  the  mills  he 
looked  back  and  heard  her  delayed  comment. 

"  One  moment,  James  — " 

"  Oh,  what  is  the  matter  ? "  cried  Leila  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs.  To  see  Ann  Penhallow  in  tears  was  strange  indeed. 

Her  uncle  standing  with  his  hand  on  his  wife's  shoulder  had 
just  spoken.  Turning  to  Leila,  he  said:  "Your  aunt  and  I 
have  had  some  unpleasant  news  from  your  uncles  in  Baltimore 
—  a  political  quarrel." 

"  I  knew  it  in  the  spring,  Uncle  Jim." 

The  girl's  thoughtful  reticence  surprised  him.  Neither  to 
him  nor  to  Ann  had  she  said  a  word  of  this  family  feud. 

"  Thank  you,  Leila,"  murmured  her  aunt.  The  Squire  won 
dered  why,  as  her  aunt  added,  "  I  am  greatly  troubled.  We 
have  always  been  a  most  united  family ;  but,  dear,  this  —  this 
has  brought  home  to  me,  as  nothing  else  has,  the  breaking  up 
of  the  ties  which  bound  the  South  and  North  together.  It  is 
only  the  sign  of  worse  things  to  come." 

"  But,  Ann,"  said  Penhallow,  "  I  must  say  " —  A  sharp  grip 
on  his  arm  by  Leila's  hand  stopped  him.  He  checked  himself 
in  time  — "  it  is  all  very  sad,  but  neither  you  nor  I  can  help 
it." 

"That  is  too  true,  James.  I  should  not  have  said  what  I 
did.  I  want  to  see  one  of  the  men  at  the  mills.  His  children 
are  ill,  his  wife  is  in  great  distress." 


264:  WESTWAYS 

"  I  will  drive  you  myself  this  morning.  I  will  send  Dixy 
away  and  order  the  gig/' 

"  Thank  you ;  I  shall  like  that,  James." 

Meanwhile  Leila  rode  away,  having  in  a  moment  of  tactful 
interference  made  her  influence  felt.  She  was  well  aware  of  it 
and  smiled  as  she  walked  her  horse  down  the  avenue,  murmur 
ing, 

"I  suppose  I  shall  catch  it  from  Uncle  Jim."  And  then, 
"  No,  he  will  be  glad  I  pinched  him,  but  he  did  look  cross  for 
a  moment."  JSTo  word  of  the  family  dissension  reached  John  in 
their  ever  cheerful  letters. 

On  a  wild  windy  afternoon  in  February,  the  snow  falling 
heavily,  Leila  on  her  way  to  the  village  rang  at  the  Hectors  door. 
Getting  no  answer,  she  went  in  and  passing  through  the  front 
room  knocked  at  the  library  door. 

"  Come  in."  Eivers  was  at  his  table  in  a  room  littered  with 
books  and  newspapers.  The  gentle  smile  of  his  usual  greeting 
was  missing.  She  saw  at  once  that  he  was  in  one  of  his  moods 
of  melancholy  —  rare  of  late.  Her  eyes  quick  to  see  when  she 
was  interested  noted  that  where  he  sat  there  was  neither  book 
nor  paper  in  front  of  him.  He  rose  as  she  entered,  tall,  stooping, 
lean,  and  so  thin-featured  that  his  large  eyes  were  the  more 
notable. 

"  Aunt  Ann  has  a  cold,  and  Joe  Grace  was  at  the  house  to  say 
that  his  father  is  ill,  and  aunt  wishes  you  to  go  with  me  and 
see  what  is  wanted.  He  has  no  way  to  send  for  the  doctor  •  and 
so  you  see,  as  he  is  in  bed,  you  must  go  with  me." 

"  Oh,  I  saw  him  this  morning.  It  is  of  no  moment.  I  did 
what  was  needed." 

"  But  I  have  to  see  Mrs.  Lamb  too.  Come  for  the  walk.  It 
is  blowing  a  gale  and  the  snow  is  splendid  —  do  come." 

Of  late  he  had  rarely  walked  with  her.     He  hesitated. 

"  Do  come." 

"  If  I  die  of  cold,  Leila." 


WESTWAYS  265 

"Die!  You  do  not  take  exercise  enough  to  keep  your  blood 
in  motion.  Come,  please !  " 

He  said  no  more  except  "  Wait  a  moment/'  and  returned  fitly 
clad.  A  fury  of  charging  battalions  of  snow  met  them  in  the 
avenue.  She  faced  it  gallantly,  joyous  and  rosy.  He  bent  to 
avoid  the  sting  of  the  driven  snow,  shivering,  and  more  at  ease 
when  in  the  town  the  houses  broke  the  force  of  the  gale. 

"  You  won't  need  to  go  to  Grace's,"  he  urged. 

"  I  am  under  orders.     Don't  you  know  Aunt  Ann  ?  " 

Presently  plunging  through  the  snow-drifts  they  came  into 
the  dreary  disordered  back  room  which  had  so  troubled  Pen- 
hallow.  It  was  cold  with  that  indoor  cold  which  is  so  un 
pleasant.  Joe  Grace  came  in  —  a  big  strapping  young  fellow. 
"  I  came  from  the  farm  and  found  father  in  bed  and  no  wood  in 
the  stack.  Some  one  has  just  fetched  a  load."  He  began  to 
make  a  fire. 

"  Go  up  to  your  father,"  said  Rivers.  "  Make  a  fire  in  his 
room.  You  ought  to  have  come  sooner.  Oh,  that  poor  help 
less  Baptist  saint  —  there  isn't  much  wrong,  but  the  man  is 
half  frozen  —  and  it  is  so  needless." 

"  Come,"  said  Leila.     "  Does  he  require  anything  ?  " 

"No,  I  saw  to  that."  As  he  spoke,  he  piled  log  on  log  and 
warmed  his  long  thin  hands.  "Wait  a  little,  Leila."  She  sat 
down,  while  the  loose  casements  rattled. 

"Leila,"  he  said,  "there  is  no  chance  to  talk  to  you  at  Grey 
Pine.  I  am  troubled  about  these,  my  friends.  What  I  now 
have  of  health  and  mental  wholesomeness  in  my  life,  I  owe  to 
them.  I  came  hither  a  broken,  hopeless  man.  Now  they  are 
in  trouble."  She  looked  up  at  him  in  some  surprise  at  his  con 
fession.  "  I  want  to  help  them.  Your  uncle  told  me  of  your 
aunt's  new  distress  and  the  cause.  Then  I  made  him  talk  busi 
ness,  and  asked  him  to  let  me  lend  him  thirty  thousand  dollars. 
He  said  no,  but  I  did  see  how  it  pleased  him.  He  said  that 
it  would  be  lost.  At  all  events  his  refusal  was  decisive." 


266  WESTWAYS 

"  But/'  said  Leila,  increasingly  surprised,  "  that  was  noble 
of  you." 

"  Nonsense,  my  dear  Leila ;  I  have  more  than  I  need  — 
enough  to  help  others  —  and  would  still  have  enough." 

She  had  a  feeling  of  astonishment  at  the  idea  of  his  being  so 
well-off,  and  now  from  his  words  some  explanation  of  the  mys 
terious  aid  which  had  so  helped  at  the  mills  and  so  puzzled  Mrs. 
Ann.  Why  had  he  talked  to  her?  He  himself  could  not  have 
told  why.  As  he  stood  at  the  fire  he  went  on  talking,  while  she 
made  her  quick  mental  comments. 

"  You  call  it  noble.  It  is  a  rather  strange  thing ;  but  to  go 
to  a  friend  in  financial  despair  with  a  cheque-book  is  a  test  of 
friendship  before  which  many  friendships  fail.  Before  my  uncle 
left  me  rich  beyond  my  needs,  I  had  an  unpleasant  experience  on 
a  small  scale,  but  it  was  a  useful  example  in  the  conduct  of  life." 
He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  said,  "  I  shall  try  the  Squire 
again." 

"  I  think  you  will  fail  —  I  know  Uncle  Jim.  But  what  you 
tell  me  —  is  it  very  bad?  I  mean,  is  he  —  are  the  mills  — 
likely  to  fail?" 

"  That  depends  as  I  see  it  on  the  summer  nominations  and  the 
fall  elections,  and  their  result  no  one  can  predict.  The  future 
looks  to  me  full  of  peril." 

"  But  why  ?  "  she  asked,  and  had  some  surprise  when  he  said, 
"I  have  lived  in  the  South.  I  taught  school  in  Macon.  I 
know  the  South,  its  increasing  belief  in  the  despotic  power  of 
cotton  and  tobacco,  its  splendid  courage,  and  the  sense  of  mas 
tery  given  by  the  ownership  of  man.  Why  do  I  talk  my  despair 
out  to  a  young  life  like  yours?  I  suppose  confession  to  be  a 
relief  —  the  tears  of  the  soul.  I  suppose  it  is  easier  to  talk  to 
a  woman."  "  Then  why  not  to  Aunt  Ann  ?  "  thought  Leila,  as 
he  went  on  to  say,  "  I  have  often  asked  myself  why  confession 
is  such  a  relief."  He  smiled  as  he  added,  "I  wonder  if  St. 


WESTWATS  267 

Francis  ever  confessed  to  Monica."  Then  he  was  silent,  turning 
round  before  the  fire,  unwilling  to  leave  it. 

Leila  had  been  but  recently  introduced  to  the  knowledge  of 
St.  Francis,  and  was  struck  with  the  oddity  of  representing 
Monica;  and  the  tall,  gaunt  figure  with  the  sad  eyes,  as  the 
joyful  St.  Francis. 

"  Now,  I  must  go  home,"  he  said. 

"Indeed,  no!  You  are  to  go  with  me  to  the  post-office  and 
then  to  see  Mrs.  Lamb." 

He  had  some  pleasant  sense  of  liking  to  be  ordered  about  by 
this  young  woman.  As  they  faced  the  snow,  he  asked,  "  How 
tall  are  you,  Leila  ?  " 

"  Five  feet  ten  inches  and  —  to  be  accurate  —  a  quarter. 
Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Idle  curiosity." 

"  Curiosity  is  never  idle,  Mr.  Rivers.  It  is  industrious.  I 
proved  that  in  a  composition  I  wrote  at  school.  It  did  bother 
Miss  Mayo." 

"  I  should  think  it  might,"  said  Eivers.  "  Any  letters,  Mrs. 
Crocker  ?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  none  for  Squire's  folk.  Two  newspapers.  Awful 
cold,  Miss  Leila.  Molasses  so  hard  to-day,  had  to  be  chopped  — " 

"  Oh,  now,  Mrs.  Crocker !  " 

The  fat  post-mistress  was  still  handling  the  pile  of  finger- 
soiled  letters.  "  Oh,  there  's  one  for  Mrs.  Lamb." 

"  We  are  going  there.     I  '11  take  it." 

"  Thanks,  miss.  She 's  right  constant  in  coming  for  letters,  but 
the  letters  they  don't  come,  and  now  here  's  one  at  last."  Leila 
tucked  it  into  her  belt.  "  I  tell  you,  Miss  Leila,  a  post-office 
is  a  place  to  make  you  laugh  one  day  and  cry  the  next.  When 
you  see  a  girl  from  the  country  come  here  twice  a  week  for 
maybe  two  months  and  then  go  away  trying  that  hard  to  make 
believe  it  wasn't  of  any  account.  There  ought  to  be  some  one 


268  WESTWAYS 

to  write  'em  letters  —  just  to  say,  '  Don't  cry,  he  '11  come.'  It 
might  be  a  queer  letter." 

Rivers  wondered  at  the  very  abrupt  and  very  American  in 
troduction  of  unexpected  sentiment  and  humour. 

"  Let  me  know  and  I  '11  write  them,  Mrs.  Crocker,"  cried 
Leila.  She  had  the  very  youthful  reflection  that  it  was  odd 
for  such  a  fat  woman  to  be  sentimental. 

"I  should  like  to  open  all  the  letters  for  a  week,  Mrs. 
Crocker,"  said  Rivers. 

"  Would  n't  Uncle  Sam  make  a  row  ?  " 

"He  would,  indeed!" 

"Idle  curiosity,"  laughed  Leila,  as  they  went  out  into  the 
storm. 

He  made  no  reply  and  reflected  on  this  young  woman's  de 
velopmental  change  and  the  gaiety  which  he  so  lacked. 

Leila,  wondering  what  Peter  wrote  to  the  lonely  old  widow, 
went  to  look  for  her  in  the  kitchen,  while  Rivers  sat  down  in 
the  neatly  kept  front  room.  He  waited  long.  At  last  Leila 
came  out  alone,  and  as  they  walked  away  she  said,  "  The  letter 
was  from  Peter." 

"Indeed!" 

"Yes,  I  got  it  all  out  of  her." 

"Got  what?" 

"  She  gets  three  dollars  a  week  from  Aunt  Ann  and  all  her 
vegetables  from  Aunt  Ann,  and  she  is  all  the  time  complaining 
to  Uncle  Jim.  Then,  of  course,  Uncle  Jim  gives  her  more 
money  —  and  Peter  gets  it — " 

"  Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  Oh,  in  Philadelphia,  and  here  and  there." 

"  You  should  tell  the  Squire." 

"  No,  I  think  not." 

"  Perhaps  —  yes  —  perhaps  you  are  right."  And  facing  the 
wild  norther  she  left  him  at  his  door  and  went  homewards  with 
a  new  burden  of  thought  on  her  mind. 


WESTWAYS  269 

The  winter  broke  up  and  late  in  May  Penhallow  left  home  on 
business.  He  wrote  from  Philadelphia : 

"  MY  DEAR  ANN  :  Trade  is  dead,  money  still  locked  up,  and 
the  railways  hesitating  to  give  orders  for  much-needed  rails. 
I  have  one  small  order,  which  will  keep  us  going,  but  will 
hardly  pay. 

"  I  never  talk  of  the  political  disorder,  but  now  you  will  feel 
as  I  do  a  certain  dismay  at  the  action  of  the  Vicksburg  Con 
vention  in  the  interest  of  the  slave  States.  Not  all  were  repre 
sented  —  Tennessee  and  Florida  voted  against  the  resolution 
that  all  State  and  Federal  laws  prohibiting  the  African  slave 
trade  ought  to  be  repealed.  South  Carolina  to  my  surprise 
divided  its  vote ;  there  were  forty  for,  nineteen  against  this  reso 
lution.  It  seems  made  to  exasperate  the  North  and  build  up 
the  Republican  party.  I  who  am  simply  for  the  Union  most 
deeply  regret  this  action. 

"I  want  Leila  to  meet  me  here  to-day  week.  We  will  take 
the  steamer  and  go  to  West  Point,  let  her  see  the  place,  and 
bring  John  home  for  his  month  of  furlough. 

"  I  have  talked  here  to  the  Mayor  and  other  moderate  Union 
men,  and  find  them  more  hopeful  than  I  of  a  peaceful  ending. 

"  Yours  always, 

"JAMES  PENHALLOW." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

WHEN"  Leila  sat  upon  the  upper  deck  of  the  great  Hudson 
Eiver  steamer,  she  was  in  a  condition  of  excitement  nat 
ural  to  an  imaginative  nature  unused  to  travel.  Her  mind  was 
like  a  fresh  canvas  ready  for  the  hand  of  the  artist.  She 
was  wondering  at  times  what  John  Penhallow  would  look 
like  after  over  two  years  of  absence  and  hardly  heard  the  mur 
mur  of  talk  around  her,  and  was  as  unconscious  of  the  interested 
glances  of  the  young  men  attracted  by  the  tall  figure  standing 
in  the  bow  as  the  great  river  opened  before  her. 

"  That,"  said  her  uncle,  "  is  Weehawken.  There  —  just 
there  —  Hamilton  was  killed  by  Burr,  and  near  by  Hamilton's 
son  four  years  before  was  killed  in  a  duel  —  a  political  quarrel." 
She  knew  the  sad  story  well,  and  with  the  gift  of  visualiza 
tion  saw  the  scene  and  the  red  pistol-flashes  which  meant  the 
death  of  a  statesman  of  genius. 

"  And  there  are  the  palisades,  Leila."  The  young  summer 
was  clothing  the  banks  with  leafage  not  yet  dark  green,  and 
translucent  in  the  morning  sun.  No  railroads  marred  the 
loveliness  of  the  lawns  on  the  East  bank,  and  the  grey  architec 
ture  of  the  palisades  rose  in  solemn  grandeur  to  westward. 

"  It  is  full  of  history,  Leila.  There  is  Tarrytown,  where 
Andre  was  taken."  She  listened  in  silence.  The  day  ran  on 
—  the  palisades  fell  away.  "Dobbs's  Ferry,  my  dear;"  and 
pointing  across  the  river,  "  on  that  hill  Andre  died." 

Presently  the  mountains  rose  before  them,  and  in  the 
afternoon  they  drew  up  at  the  old  wharf.  "  We  stay  at  Cozzen's 
Hotel,  Leila.  I  will  send  on  the  baggage  and  we  will  walk  up 
to  the  Point." 

270 


WESTWATS  271 

She  hardly  heard  him.  A  tall  young  man  in  white  panta 
loons  and  blue  jacket  stood  on  the  pier.  "  Good  gracious,  Uncle 
Jim,  it  is  John ! "  A  strange  sense  of  disappointed  remem 
brance  possessed  her.  The  boy  playmate  of  her  youth  was 
gone.  He  gave  both  hands  of  welcome,  as  he  said,  "  By  George, 
Leila,  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

"You  may  thank  uncle  for  our  visit.  Aunt  Ann  was  not 
very  willing  to  part  with  me." 

He  was  about  to  make  the  obvious  reply  of  the  man,  but  re 
frained.  They  talked  lightly  of  the  place,  of  her  journey,  and 
at  last  he  said  very  quietly,  even  coldly,  as  if  it  were  merely  a 
natural  history  observation,  "  You  are  amazingly  grown,  Cousin 
Leila.  It  is  as  well  for  cadets  and  officers  that  your  stay  is  to 
be  brief." 

"John,  I  have  been  in  Baltimore.  You  will  have  to  put  it 
stronger  than  that  —  I  am  used  to  it." 

"  I  will  see  if  I  can  improve  on  it,  Leila." 

Now  this  was  not  at  all  the  way  she  meant  to  meet  him,  nor 
these  the  words  they  meant  to  use  —  or  rather,  she  —  for  John 
Penhallow  had  given  it  no  thought,  except  to  be  glad  as  a  child 
promised  a  gift  and  then  embarrassed  into  a  word  of  simple 
descriptive  admiration.  When  John  Penhallow  said,  with  a 
curious  gravity  and  a  little  of  his  old  formal  manner,  "  I  will 
reflect  on  it,"  she  knew  with  the  quick  perception  of  her  sex  that 
here  was  a  new  masculine  study  for  the  great  naturalist  woman. 
The  boy  —  the  lad  —  she  knew  were  no  more. 

"Who  is  that  with  Uncle  James?"  she  asked. 

"  The  Commandant." 

"  My  niece,  Miss  Grey.  Colonel  Beauregard,  my  dear.  Let 
us  walk  up  to  the  Point."  The  Commandant,  who  made  good 
his  name,  took  possession  of  the  delighted  young  woman  and 
carried  her  away  to  his  home  with  Penhallow,  leaving  the  cadet 
to  return  to  his  routine  of  duty.  As  they  parted,  he  said,  "  I 
am  set  free  to-morrow,  Leila,  at  five,  and  excused  from  the 


272  WESTWAYS 

afternoon  parade.  If  you  and  Uncle  Jim  will  walk  up  to  Fort 
Putnam,  I  will  join  you/' 

"  I  will  tell  Uncle  Jim.  You  will  be  at  the  hop  of  course  ?  I 
have  been  thinking  of  nothing  else  for  a  week." 

"  I  may  be  late." 

"  Oh,  why?" 

"  We  are  in  the  midst  of  our  examinations.  Even  to  get  time 
for  a  walk  with  you  and  uncle  was  hard.  I  wrote  Uncle  Jim 
not  to  come  now.  He  must  have  missed  it." 

"  And  so  I  am  to  suffer." 

"  I  doubt  the  anguish,"  he  returned,  laughing,  as  he  touched 
his  cap,  and  left  her  to  brief  consideration  of  the  cadet  cousin. 

"  Uncle  Jim  might  have  been  just  like  that  —  looked  like 
that.  They  are  very  unlike  too.  I  used  to  be  able  to  tell  just 
what  Jack  would  do  when  we  were  children  —  don't  think  I  can 
now.  How  tall  he  is  and  how  handsome.  The  uniform  is  be 
coming.  I  wonder  if  I  too  am  so  greatly  changed." 

It  is  well  here  to  betray  the  secrets  of  the  novelists'  confes 
sional.  Leila  Grey  had  seen  in  the  South  much  of  an  interest 
ing  society  where  love  affairs  were  brief,  lightly  taken,  easily 
ended,  or  hardly  more  than  the  mid-air  flirtations  of  butterflies. 
No  such  perilous  approaches  to  the  most  intimate  relations  of 
men  and  women  were  for  this  young  woman,  on  whom  the  love 
and  tactful  friendship  of  the  married  life  of  Grey  Pine  had  left 
a  lasting  impression.  One  must  have  known  her  well  to  become 
aware  of  the  sense  of  duty  to  her  ideals  which  lay  behind  her 
alert  appearance  of  joyous  gaiety  and  capacity  to  see  the  mirth 
ful  aspects  of  life.  Once  long  ago  the  lad's  moment  of  passion 
ate  longing  had  but  lightly  stirred  the  dreamless  sleep  of  un- 
a  wakened  power  to  love.  Even  the  memory  of  John's  boy-folly 
had  faded  with  time.  Her  relation  to  him  had  been  little  more 
than  warm  friendship.  Even  that  tie  —  and  she  was  abruptly 
aware  of  it  —  had  become  less  close.  She  was  directly  con 
scious  of  the  fact  and  wondered  if  this  grave  young  man  felt  as 


WESTWAYS  273 

she  did.  She  lay  awake  that  night  and  wondered  too  if  his 
ideals  of  heroism  and  ambition  were  still  actively  present,  and 
where  too  was  his  imagination  —  ever  on  the  wing  and  far  be 
yond  her  mental  flight?  She  also  had  changed.  Did  he  know 
it  or  care?  Then  she  dismissed  him  and  fell  asleep. 

As  John  Penhallow  near  to  noon  came  out  a  little  weary  and 
anxious  from  the  examination  ordeal,  he  chanced  on  his  uncle 
and  Leila  waiting  with  the  officer  of  the  day,  who  said  to  him, 
"  After  dinner  you  are  free  for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon.  Mr. 
Penhallow  has  asked  me  to  relieve  you." 

As  he  bade  them  good-morning,  his  uncle  said,  "How  goes 
the  examination  ?  " 

"  Don't  ask  me  yet,  sir ;  but  I  cannot  go  home  until  the  end 
of  next  week.  Then  I  shall  know  the  result." 

"But  what  examination  remains?"  persisted  the  Squire. 

"  Don't  ask  him,  Uncle  Jim." 

"Well  — all  right." 

"  Thank  you,  Leila.  I  am  worn  out.  I  am  glad  of  a  let-up. 
I  dream  equations  and  pontoon  bridges  —  and  I  must  do  some 
work  after  dinner.  Then  I  will  find  you  and  Uncle  Jim  on 
Fort  Putnam,  at  five." 

"  I  want  to  talk  with  Beauregard,"  said  Penhallow,  "  about 
the  South.  Leila  can  find  her  way." 

"  I  can,"  she  said.  "  I  want  to  sketch  the  river,  and  that  will 
give  me  time." 

"  Oh,  there  goes  the  dinner  call.  Come  in  at  a  quarter  to 
one  with  Uncle  Jim.  I  have  leave  to  admit  you.  There  will 
be  something  to  interest  you." 

"  And  what,  John  —  men  eating  ?  " 

"  No.  One  of  my  best  friends,  Gresham  from  South  Caro 
lina,  has  been  ordered  home  by  his  father." 

"  And  why?  "  asked  Penhallow. 

"  Oh,  merely  because  his  people  are  very  bitter,  and,  as  he 
tells  me,  they  write  about  secession  as  if  it  were  merely  needed 


274  WESTWAYS 

to  say  to  the  North  '  We  mean  to  cut  loose  ' —  and  go ;  it  is  just 
to  be  as  simple  as  '  Good-bye,  children/  I  think  I  wrote  you, 
uncle,  that  we  do  not  talk  politics  here,  but  this  quiet  assump 
tion  of  being  able  to  do  with  us  what  they  please  is  not  the 
ordinary  tone  of  the  Southern  cadets.  Now  and  then  there  is 
a  row  — " 

Leila  listened  with  interest  and  some  presently  gratified  de 
sire  to  hear  her  cousin  declare  his  own  political  creed.  She 
spoke,  as  they  stood  beside  the  staff  from  which  the  flag  was 
streaming  in  the  north  wind,  "Would  it  not  be  better,  John, 
as  Mr.  Eivers  desires,  to  let  the  Southern  States  go  in  peace  ?  " 
As  she  spoke,  she  was  aware  of  something  more  than  being 
merely  anxious  that  he  should  make  the  one  gallant  answer  to 
the  words  that  challenged  opinion.  The  Squire  caught  on  to 
some  comprehension  of  the  earnestness  with  which  she  put  the 
question. 

To  his  uncle's  surprise,  the  cadet  said,  "Ah,  my  dear  Leila, 
that  is  really  asking  me  on  which  side  I  should  be  if  we  come  to 
an  open  rupture." 

"  I  did  not  mean  quite  that,  John,  and  I  spoke  rather  lightly ; 
but  you  do  not  answer." 

He  somewhat  resented  this  inquisition,  but  as  he  saw  his  uncle 
turn,  apparently  expectant,  he  said  quietly  and  speaking  with 
the  low  voice  which  may  be  so  surpassingly  expressive,  "  I  hardly 
see,  Leila,  why  you  put  such  a  question  to  me  here  under 
the  flag.  If  there  is  to  be  war  —  secession,  I  shall  stand  by  the 
flag,  my  country,  and  an  unbroken  union."  The  young  face 
flushed  a  little,  the  mouth,  which  was  of  singular  beauty,  closed 
with  a  grip  on  the  strong  jaw.  Then,  to  Leila's  surprise,  the 
Captain  and  John  suddenly  uncovered  as  music  rang  out  from 
the  quarters  of  the  band. 

"  Why  do  you  do  that,  Uncle  Jim?  " 

"  Don't  you  hear,  Leila?    It  is  the  '  Star-Spangled  Banner  ' — 


WESTWAYS  275 

we  all  uncover."  Here  and  there  on  the  parade  ground,  far  and 
near,  officers,  cadets  and  soldiers,  stood  still  an  instant  bare 
headed. 

"  Oh,"  murmured  Leila.  "  How  wonderful !  How  beauti 
ful  !  "  Surprised  at  the  affect  of  this  ceremonial  usage  upon  her 
self,  she  stood  a  moment  with  that  sense  of  constriction  in  the 
throat  which  is  so  common  a  signal  of  emotion.  The  music 
ceased,  and  as  they  moved  on  Penhallow  asked,  "What  about 
Gresham,  your  friend  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  know,  uncle,  when  a  cadet  resigns  for  any  cause 
which  involves  no  dishonour,  we  have  a  little  ceremony.  I  want 
you  to  see  it.  No  college  has  that  kind  of  thing.  Don't  be 
late.  I  will  join  you  in  time." 

The  captain  and  Leila  attracted  much  attention  from  the 
cadets  at  dinner  in  the  Mess  Hall.  "  Now,  dear,  look !  "  said 
Penhallow.  At  the  end  of  the  long  table  a  cadet  rose  —  the 
captain  of  the  corps  in  charge  of  the  battalion.  There  was  abso 
lute  silence.  The  young  officer  spoke: 

"You  all  know  that  to  our  regret  one  of  us  leaves  to-day. 
Mr.  Gresham,  you  have  the  privilege  of  calling  the  battalion  to 
attention." 

A  slightly  built  young  fellow  in  citizen's  dress  rose  at  his  side. 
For  a  moment  he  could  not  fully  command  his  voice;  then  his 
tones  rang  clear :  "  Most  unwillingly  I  take  my  farewell.  I 
am  given  the  privilege  of  those  who  depart  with  honour.  Bat 
talion  !  Attention !  God  bless  you !  Good-bye  !  " 

The  class  filed  out,  and  lifting  the  departing  man  on  their 
shoulders  bore  him  down  to  the  old  south  dock  and  bade  him 
farewell. 

Penhallow  looked  after  them.  "  There  goes  the  first,  Leila. 
There  will  be  more  —  many  more  —  to  follow,  unless  things 
greatly  change  —  and  they  will  not.  I  hoped  to  take  John  home 
with  us,  but  he  will  come  in  a  week.  I  must  leave  to-morrow 


276  WESTWAYS 

morning.  John  is  in  the  dumps  just  now,  but  Beauregard  has 
only  pleasant  things  to  say  of  him.  I  wish  he  were  as  agreeable 
about  the  politics  of  his  own  State." 

"Are  they  so  bad?" 

"  Don't  ask  me,  Leila/' 

The  capital  of  available  energy  in  the  young  may  be  so  ex 
hausted  by  mental  labour,  when  accompanied  by  anxiety,  that  the 
whole  body  for  a  time  feels  the  effect.  Muscular  action  be 
comes  overconscious,  and  intense  use  of  the  mind  seems  to  rob 
the  motor  centres  of  easy  capacity  to  use  the  muscles.  John 
Penhallow  walked  slowly  up  the  rough  road  to  where  the  ruined 
bastions  of  Fort  Putnam  rose  high  above  the  Hudson.  He  was 
aware  of  being  tired  as  he  had  not  been  for  years.  The  hot  close 
air  and  the  long  hours  of  concentration  of  mind  left  him  dis 
couraged  as  well  as  exhausted.  He  was  still  in  the  toils  of  the 
might-have-been,  of  that  wasting  process  —  an  examination,  and 
turning  over  in  his  mind  logistics,  logarithms,  trajectories,  equa 
tions,  and  a  mob  of  disconnected  questions.  "  Oh,  by  George !  " 
he  exclaimed,  "  what  ?s  the  worth  while  of  it  ?  "  All  the  pleas 
antly  estimated  assets  of  life  and  love  and  friendship  became 
unavailable  securities  in  the  presence  of  a  mood  of  depression 
which  came  of  breathing  air  which  had  lost  its  vitalizing  ozone. 
And  now  at  a  turn  in  the  road  nature  fed  her  child  with  a 
freshening  change  of  horizon. 

Looking  up  he  saw  a  hawk  in  circling  flight  set  against  the 
blue  sky.  He  never  saw  this  without  thinking  of  Josiah,  and 
then  of  prisoned  things  like  a  young  hawk  he  had  seen 
sitting  dejected  in  a  cage  in  the  barracks.  Did  he  have 
dreams  of  airy  freedom?  It  had  affected  him  as  an  image  of 
caged  energy  —  of  useless  power.  With  contrasted  remembrance 
he  went  back  to  the  guarded  procession  of  boys  from  the  lyceum 
in  France,  the  flower-stalls,  and  the  bird-market,  the  larks  sing 
ing  merrily  in  their  small  wicker  cages.  Yes,  he  had  them  — 


WESTWAYS  277 

the  two  lines  he  wanted  —  a  poet's  condensed  statement  of  the 
thought  he  could  not  fully  phrase: 

Ah!    the   lark! 

He  hath  the  heaven  which  he  sings, — 

But  my  poor  hawk  hath  only  wings. 

The  success  of  the  capture  of  this  final  perfection  of  state 
ment  of  his  own  thought  refreshed  him  in  a  way  which  is  one 
of  the  mysteries  of  that  wild  charlatan  imagination,  who  now 
and  then  administers  tonics  to  the  weary  which  are  of  inex 
plicable  value.  John  Penhallow  felt  the  sudden  uplift  and 
quickened  his  pace  until  he  paused  within  the  bastion  lines  of  the 
fort.  Before  him,  with  her  back  to  him,  sat  Leila.  Her  hat 
lay  beside  her  finished  sketch.  She  was  thinking  that  John  Pen- 
hallow,  the  boy  friend,  was  to-day  in  its  accepted  sense  but  an 
acquaintance,  of  whom  she  desired,  without  knowing  why,  to 
know  more.  That  he  had  changed  was  obvious.  In  fact,  he  had 
only  developed  on  the  lines  of  his  inherited  character,  while  in 
the  revolutionary  alterations  of  perfected  womanhood  she  had 
undergone  a  far  more  radical  transformation. 

The  young  woman,  whom  now  he  watched  unseen,  rose  and 
stood  on  the  crumbling  wall.  A  roughly  caressing  northwest 
wind  blew  back  her  skirts.  She  threw  out  her  wide-sleeved  arms 
in  exultant  pleasure  at  the  magnificence  of  the  vast  river, 
with  its  forest  boundaries,  and  the  rock-ribbed  heights  of 
Crow's  Nest.  As  she  stood  looking  "taller  than  human,"  she 
reminded  him  of  the  figure  of  victory  he  had  seen  as  a  boy  on 
the  stairway  of  the  Louvre.  He  stood  still  —  again  refreshed. 
The  figure  he  then  saw  lived  with  him  through  life,  strangely 
recurrent  in  moments  of  peril,  on  the  march,  or  in  the  loneliness 
of  his  tent. 

"  Good  evening,"  he  said  as  he  came  near.  She  sat  down 
on  the  low  wall  and  he  at  her  feet.  "Ah,  it  is  good  to  get 
you  alone  for  a  quiet  talk,  Leila." 


278  WESTWAt'S 

She  was  aware  of  a  wild  desire  to  lay  a  hand  among  the  curls 
his  cadet-cropped  hair  still  left  over  his  forehead.  "  Do  you 
really  like  the  life  here,  John  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  It  is  so  definite  —  its  duties  are  so  plain  —  noth 
ing  is  left  to  choice.  Like  it?  Yes,  I  like  it." 

"But,  isn't  it  very  limited?" 

"  All  good  education  must  be  —  it  is  only  a  preparation ;  but 
one's  imagination  is  free  —  as  to  a  man's  future,  and  as  to  am 
bitions.  There  one  can  use  one's  wings." 

She  continued  her  investigation.  "  Then  you  have  ambitions. 
Yes,  you  must  have,"  she  cried  with  animation.  "  Oh,  I  want 
you  to  have  them  —  ideals  too  of  life.  We  used  to  discuss  them." 

He  looked  up.  "You  think  I  have  changed.  You  want  to 
know  how.  It  is  all  vague  —  very  vague.  Yet,  I  could  put  my 
creed  of  what  conduct  is  desirable  in  life  in  a  phrase  —  in  a 
text." 

"Do,  John."     She  leaned  over  in  her  interest. 

"  Render  unto  Cassar  the  things  which  are  Caesar's  and  to  God 
the  things  which  are  God's."  The  seriousness  of  the  upturned 
face  for  a  moment  kept  her  silently  reflective. 

"  Caesar !     What  of  Caesar,  John  ?  " 

"My  country,  of  course;  that  is  simple.  The  rest,  Leila, 
covers  all  —  almost  all  of  life  and  needs  no  comment.  But  how 
serious  we  are.  Tell  me  all  about  home  and  the  village  and 
the  horses  and  Uncle  Jim.  He  has  some  grey  hairs." 

"  He  may  well  have  grey  hairs,  John.  The  times  are  bad.  He 
is  worried.  Imagine  Uncle  Jim  economical !  " 

"Incredible." 

"  Yes.  He  told  me  that  his  talk  with  Colonel  Beauregard 
had  made  him  despair  of  a  peaceful  ending,  and  usually  he  is 
hopeful." 

"Well,  don't  make  me  talk  politics.  We  rarely  do.  Isn't 
this  outlook  beautiful?  People  rarely  come  here  and  it  often 
gives  me  a  chance  to  be  alone  and  to  think." 


WBSTWAYS  279 

"  And  what  do  you  think  about,  John  ?  "  She  was  again  cu 
rious. 

"  Oh,  many  things,  big  and  little.  Uncle  Jim,  Aunt  Ann,  Mr. 
Rivers,  Dixy  —  hornets,  muskrats,"  he  laughed.  She  noted  the 
omission  of  Leila  Grey. 

"And  what  else?" 

"  Oh,  the  tragedy  of  Arnold, —  the  pathos  of  Washington's 
despair, —  his  words,  '  Who  is  there  now  I  can  trust  ?  ' } 

"  It  came  home  to  me,  John,  this  morning  when  Colonel 
Beauregard  showed  us  the  portraits  of  the  major-generals  of  the 
Revolution.  I  saw  a  vacant  place  and  a  tablet  like  the  rest,  but 
with  '  Major  General  —  Born  1740  9  and  no  name !  I  asked  what 
it  meant.  The  Colonel  said  only,  ( Arnold/  That  is  too  pitiful 
—  and  his  wife — I  read  somewhere  that  she  was  young,  beau 
tiful,  and  innocent  of  his  horrible  treason." 

"Yes,  what  crime  could  be  worse  than  his,  and,  too,  such  a 
gallant  soldier.  Let  us  walk  around  the  fort.  Oh,  by  the  way, 
I  found  here  last  week  two  Continental  buttons,  Third  Pennsyl 
vania  Infantry.  Like  to  have  them,  Leila?  I  thought  you 
might." 

"Would  I  like?"  She  took  them  eagerly.  "They  ought  to 
be  gilded  and  used  as  sleeve-links."  But  where  she  kept  them 
John  Penhallow  never  knew.  They  did  not  make  the  sleeve- 
links  for  which  she  agreed  they  were  so  suitable. 

"  Is  n't  there  a  walk  down  through  the  woods  ? "  asked 
Leila. 

"Yes,  this  way."  Leaving  the  road  they  followed  a  rough 
trail  through  the  woods  to  a  more  open  space  half-way  down  the 
hill.  Here  he  paused.  "  This  is  our  last  chance  to  talk  until 
I  am  at  Grey  Pine." 

"That  will  be  very  soon,  John."  She  sat  down  amid  num 
berless  violets,  adding,  "  There  will  be  the  hop  to-night,  as  you 
call  it." 

"  Yes,  the  hop.     I  forgot.     You  will  give  me  the  first  dance  ?  " 


280  WESTWAYS 

To  her  surprise  he  asked  no  others.  "  Cadets  have  to  learn 
to  dance,  but  Baltimore  may  have  left  you  critical." 

Still  on  her  investigation  track,  she  returned,  "  Oh,  Baltimore ! 
It  seems  odd  to  me  that  I  should  have  seen  so  much  of  the  world 
of  men  and  women  and  you  who  are  older  so  little  in  this  mili 
tary  monastery." 

He  laughed  outright.  "  We  have  the  officers'  families,  and  if 
we  are  allowed  to  visit,  the  Kembles  and  Gouverneurs  and  Pauld- 
ings  across  the  river  —  no  better  social  life  anywhere.  And  as 
for  young  women  —  sisters,  cousins  —  embarras  de  choix,  Miss 
Grey.  They  come  in  flocks  like  the  blackbirds.  I  assure  you 
that  this  branch  of  natural  history  is  pretty  well  illustrated  at 
the  Point.  We  are  apt  to  be  rather  over-supplied  in  June." 

"  Indeed !  —  all  sorts,  I  suppose." 

"Yes,  a  variety,  and  just  now  three  charming  young  women 
from  the  South." 

"  Eather  a  strong  adjective  —  charming.  I  might  hesitate  to 
apply  it  to  a  whole  flock.  I  think  men  are  more  apt  to  use  it 
than  women." 

"I  stand  by  my  adjective.  Take  care  of  your  laurels,  Miss 
Grey.  I  am  lucky  enough  to  have  two  dances  with  Miss  Earn- 
say.  Her  brother  is  a  cadet." 

"  Introduce  him  to  me.     What  myriads  of  violets !  " 

"  Do  you  remember  how,  when  we  were  small,  we  used  to  fight 
violets?" 

"  How  long  ago  it  seems,  John.  It  must  have  been  the  first 
June  after  you  appeared  in  that  amazing  cap  and  —  the  cane. 
I  have  it  yet.  Let  ?s  fight  violets.  It  may  have  a  charm  to 
make  me  look  young  again  —  I  feel  so  old  sometimes." 

Intent  on  her  game,  she  was  already  gathering  the  flowers  in 
her  lap,  while  the  young  man  a  little  puzzled  and  a  little  amused 
watched  the  face  which  she  described  for  his  benefit  as  needing 
to  look  young.  She  ran  on  gaily,  "You  will  pick  five  and  I 
will  pick  five.  I  never  heard  of  any  other  children  fighting 


WESTWAYS  281 

violets.  It  is  a  neglected  branch  of  education.  I  got  it  from 
the  Westways  children.  Now,  fair  play,  John  Penhallow."  He 
was  carelessly  taking  his  five  violets,  while  Leila  was  testing  hers, 
choosing  them  with  care.  The  charm  she  sought  was  working 
—  they  were  children  again. 

"  That 's  not  fair,  Leila." 

"Why  not?" 

"You  are  testing  yours.  It  is  a  mean  advantage.  I  would 
scorn  to  do  such  a  thing.  It  is  just  like  a  woman  —  the  way  you 
do  about  dress.  All  women  ought  to  dress  alike  —  then  the 
competition  would  be  fair." 

Leila  looked  up  from  her  lap  full  of  violets.  "  I  should  like 
to  see  your  Miss  Eamsay  in  one  of  my  gowns." 

"  My  Miss  Eamsay !     No  such  luck." 

"  You  're  a  goose,  Jack." 

"You're  a  silly,  Leila." 

"  Oh,  now,  we  are  children,  John.  This  is  the  magic  of  the 
June  violets." 

"  And  you  are  just  fourteen,  Leila.  The  wrinkles  of  age  are 
gone  —  they  used  to  be  dimples." 

"Nonsense!     Let's  play." 

They  hooked  together  the  bent  stems  of  the  flowers.  Then 
there  was  a  quick  jerk,  and  one  violet  was  decapitated.  "  One 
for  you,  Leila ;  —  and  another." 

"You  are  not  paying  any  attention  to  the  game.  Please  to 
keep  young  a  little  while."  He  was  watching  the  sunlight  as  it 
fell  upon  her  neck  when  it  bent  over  the  flowers. 

"  And  how  am  I  to  keep  young,  Miss  Grey  ?  " 

"  Oh,  any  woman  can  answer  that  —  ask  Miss  Eamsay." 

"  I  will.  There !  you  have  won,  Leila,  three  to  two.  There 
used  always  to  be  a  forfeit.  What  must  I  pay  ?  " 

"  Now,  John,  what  terrible  task  shall  I  put  upon  you  ?  I  have 
it.  You  shall  ask  me  to  give  you  the  third  dance." 

"  That  is  Miss  Eamsay's.     I  am  sorry." 


282  WESTWAYS 

"  Oh,  one  girl  is  as  good  as  another." 

"  Perhaps  —  for  women."  He  did  not  ask  of  her  any  other 
dances.  "But  really,  Leila,  the  better  bred  of  these  Southern 
girls  we  see  here  are  most  pleasant  acquaintances,  more  socially 
easy  of  acquaintance  than  Northern  girls.  As  they  are  butter 
flies  of  the  hour  —  their  frank  ways  are  valuable  in  what  you 
call  our  monastery." 

"  Yes,  I  know  them  well.  There  may  be  time  here  for  some 
brief  flirtations.  I  used  to  see  them  in  Maryland,  and  once 
when  Aunt  Margaret  took  me  on  visits  to  some  old  Virginia 
homes.  These  pleasant  girls  take  to  it  with  no  more  conscience 
than  birds  in  the  spring.  I  used  to  see  it  in  Maryland." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  "  but  it  means  very  little ;  —  quite  harm 
less  —  mere  practice,  like  our  fencing  bouts." 

"  Did  you  ever  kiss  a  woman,  John  —  just  for  practice  ?  " 
"  Why  did  I  say  that !  "  thought  Leila.  "  Come,  sir,  confess !  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  not  liking  it  and  far  from  any  conception  of 
the  little  mob  of  motives  which  betrayed  to  her  a  state  of  mind 
he  had  not  the  daring  to  guess.  "  Did  I  ?  That  requires  cour 
age.  Have  I  —  ever  kissed  a  woman  ?  Yes,  often  — " 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  ask  who." 

"  Aunt  Ann  —  and  a  girl  once  — " 

"Indeed!" 

"  Yes  —  Leila  Grey,  aged  fifteen  —  and  got  my  ears  boxed. 
This  confession  being  at  an  end,  I  want  absolution."  The  air 
was  cleared. 

"  How  about  the  first  polka  as  absolution  ?  "  said  Leila. 

"  It  is  unusual,  but  as  penance  it  may  answer." 

"  The  penance  may  be  mine.  I  shall  know  better  after  the 
first  round,  Mr.  Penhallow." 

"  You  are  complimentary,  Miss  Grey,"  he  added,  with  the 
whimsical  display  of  mirth  which  was  more  than  a  smile  and  not 
a  laugh,  and  was  singularly  attractive. 

In  place  of  keeping  up  the  gay  game  of  trifles  as  shuttle-cocks, 


WESTWAYS  283 

Leila  stood  still  upon  the  edge  of  the  wood,  "  I  don't  think  you 
liked  what  I  asked." 

"What,  about  kissing?  I  did  not,  but  upon  my  honour  I 
answered  you  truly."  He  was  grave  as  he  replied. 

"  You  did  not  think  it  impertinent,  Jack  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  thought  it."  And  then,  as  if  to  avoid 
need  to  defend  or  explain  contradictory  statements,  he  said, 
"  Put  yourself  in  my  place.  Suppose  I  had  dared  to  ask  you 
if  ever  a  man  had  kissed  you — " 

"  Oh,  that  's  the  difference  between  kissing  and  being  kissed." 

"  Then  put  it  my  way." 

"  John  Penhallow,  I  should  dearly  like  to  box  your  ears. 
Once  a  man  did  kiss  me.  He  was  tall,  handsome,  and  had  the 
formal  courtly  manners  you  have  at  times.  He  was  General 
Winfield  Scott.  He  kissed  my  hand." 

"  You  minx ! "  cried  John,  "  you  are  no  better  than  you  used 
to  be.  There  goes  the  bugle ! "  And  laughing  as  he  deserted 
her,  he  ran  down  the  hill  and  across  the  parade  ground. 

"  He  is  not  really  handsome,"  said  the  young  woman,  "  but 
no  man  ought  to  have  so  beautiful  a  mouth  —  I  could  have 
made  him  do  it  in  a  minute.  Why  did  I  not  ?  What 's  the 
matter  ?  I  merely  could  n't.  He  has  n't  the  remotest  idea  that 
if  he  were  to  kiss  me  —  I — "  She  reddened  at  the  thought 
and  went  with  quick  steps  of  "  virgin  liberty  "  to  take  tea  with 
the  Commandant. 

In  New  York,  on  his  way  home,  Penhallow  received  a  tele 
gram,  "I  am  third.  John  Penhallow."  Then  the  Squire  pre 
sented  Leila  with  a  bracelet,  to  the  belated  indignation  of  Aunt 
Ann,  who  was  practising  the  most  disagreeable  economy.  Her 
husband  wrote  her  that  the  best  policy  for  a  man  financially  in 
peril  was  to  be  extravagant  enough  to  discredit  belief  in  his 
need  to  lessen  expenditure.  He  was,  moreover,  pleasantly  aware 
that  the  improving  conditions  of  trade  this  summer  of  1859 
had  enabled  him  to  collect  some  large  outstanding  debts.  He 


284  WESTWAYS 

encouraged  Leila  to  remember  their  old  village  friends,  but 
when  he  proposed  a  set  of  furs  for  Ann  Penhallow's  winter 
wear  Leila  became  ingeniously  impossible  about  choice,  and  the 
Squire's  too  lavish  generosity  somehow  failed  to  materialize; 
but  why  or  how  was  not  clear  to  him  because  of  their  being 
feminine  diplomatic  ways  —  which  attain  results  and  leave  with 
the  male  a  mildly  felt  resentment  without  apparent  cause  of 
defeat. 

As  Cadet  No.  3  of  his  class  in  this  year's  studies  made  the 
railway  journey  of  a  warm  June  day,  he  recalled  with  wonder 
ing  amusement  his  first  lonely  railway  travel.  "  I  was  a  perfect 
little  snob."  The  formal,  too  old-mannered  politeness  of  his 
childhood  had  left,  if  the  child  is  father  of  the  man,  an  inherit 
ance  of  pleasant  courtesy  which  was  unusual  and  had  varied 
values  in  the  intercourse  of  life.  Elvers  said  of  him  later  that 
the  manner  of  John  Penhallow's  manners  had  the  mystery  of 
charm.  Even  when  younger,  at  Grey  Pine,  he  liked  to  talk  to 
people,  with  curiosity  about  their  lives  and  their  work.  Now,  as 
the  train  moved  on,  he  fell  into  chat  with  the  country  folk 
who  got  on  the  train  for  short  travel.  Soon  or  late  they  all 
talked  politics,  but  '  generally  guessed  things  would  be  settled 
somehow  ' —  which  is  the  easily  reached  conclusion  of  the  Amer 
ican.  When  the  old  conductor,  with  the  confidence  John's 
manner  invited,  asked  what  uniform  he  wore,  John  said,  laugh 
ing,  "Do  you  not  remember  the  boy  with  a  cane  who  got  out 
at  Westways  Crossing  ?  " 

"You  ain't  him  —  not  really?  Why  it's  years  ago!  You 
are  quite  a  bit  changed." 

"  For  the  better,  I  hope." 

"  Well,  here  's  your  station,  and  Miss  Grey  waiting." 

"  Oh,  John,  glad  to  see  you !  I  told  aunt  no  one  must  go 
for  you  but  me.  Get  in.  And  Billy,  look  out  how  you  drive." 

Billy,  bewildered  by  the  tall  figure  in  cadet  jacket  and  grey 
pantaloons,  needed  the  warning. 


WESTWAYS  285 

Then  there  was  the  avenue,  the  big  grey  pine,  home,  and 
Aunt  Ann's  kiss  of  welcome.  The  old  familiar  life  was  again 
his.  He  rode  with  the  Squire  or  Leila,  swam,  and  talked  to 
Eivers  whenever  he  could  induce  the  too  easily  tired  man  to 
walk  with  him.  He  was  best  pleased  to  do  so  when  Leila  was 
of  the  party.  Then  at  least  the  talk  was  free  and  wandered 
from  poetry  and  village  news  to  discussion  of  the  last  addition 
to  the  causes  of  quarrel  between  the  North  and  South.  When 
tempted  to  speak  at  length,  Eivers  sat  down. 

"  How  can  a  man  venture  to  speak,  John,  like  Mr.  Jefferson 
Davis?  Have  you  read  his  speech?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"Well,  he  says  the  importation  of  Africans  ought  to  be  left 
to  the  States  —  and  the  President.  He  thinks  that  as  Cuba 
is  the  only  spot  in  the  civilized  world  where  the  African 
slave-trade  is  permitted,,  its  cession  to  us  would  put  an  end 
to  that  blot  on  civilization.  An  end  to  it,  indeed!  Think 
of  it ! "  His  voice  rose  as  he  spoke.  "  End  slavery  and 
you  end  that  accursed  trade.  And  to  think  that  a  woman 
like  Ann  Penhallow  should  think  it  right ! "  Neither  John 
nor  Leila  were  willing  to  discuss  their  aunt's  definitely  held 
views. 

"  I  think,"  said  Leila,  who  had  listened  silently,  "  Aunt  Ann 
has  lost  or  put  aside  her  interest  in  politics." 

"I  wish  I  could,"  said  John.  "But  what  do  you  mean, 
Leila?  She  has  never  said  so." 

"It's  just  this.  Aunt  Ann  told  me  two  weeks  ago  that 
Uncle  Henry  Grey  was  talked  of  as  a  delegate  to  the  Demo 
cratic  Convention  to  meet  next  year.  Now  her  newspapers 
remain  unopened.  They  are  feeding  these  dissensions  North 
and  South.  No  wonder  she  is  tired  of  it  all.  I  am  with  Uncle 
Jim,  but  I  hate  to  wrangle  over  politics  like  Senator  Davis  and 
this  new  man  Lincoln  —  oh,  and  the  rest.  No  good  comes  of 
it.  I  can't  see  it  as  you  do,  Mr.  Eivers." 


286  WESTWAYS 

"  And  yet,  I  am  right,"  said  Rivers  gravely.  "  God  knows. 
It  is  in  His  hands." 

"What  Aunt  Ann  thinks  right,"  said  Leila,  "can't  be  so 
unpardonably  wicked."  She  spoke  softly.  "  Oh,  John,  look  at 
that  squirrel.  She  is  carrying  a  young  one  on  her  back  —  how 
pretty!  She  has  to  do  it.  What  a  lovely  instinct.  It  must 
be  heavy." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Rivers,  "  we  all  have  loads  we  must  carry, 
are  born  to  carry  — " 

"  Like  the  South,  sir,"  said  John.  "  We  can  help  neither 
the  squirrel  nor  the  South.  You  think  we  can  throw  stones  at 
the  chipmunk  and  make  her  drop  it  —  and — " 

"  Bad  logic,  John,"  returned  Rivers.  "  But  soon  there  will 
be  stones  thrown." 

"  And  who  will  cast  the  first  stone  ?  "  rejoined  Leila,  rising. 

"  It  is  an  ancient  crime,"  said  Rivers.  "  It  was  once  ours, 
and  it  will  be  ours  to  end  it.  Now  I  leave  you  to  finish  your 
walk ;  I  am  tired."  As  they  moved  away,  he  looked  after  them. 
"  Beauty,  intelligence,  perfect  health  —  oh,  my  God !  " 

In  August  with  ever  resisted  temptation  John  Penhallow  went 
back  to  West  Point  to  take  up  his  work  again. 

The  autumn  came,  and  in  October,  at  night,  the  Squire  read 
with  dismay  and  anger  of  the  tragic  attempt  of  John  Brown 
at  Harper's  Ferry.  "  My  poor  Ann,"  he  exclaimed.  He  went 
at  once  from  his  library  back  to  the  hall,  where  Leila  was 
reading  aloud.  "  Ann,"  he  said,  "  have  you  seen  the  papers 
to-day?" 

"  I  have  read  no  paper  for  a  month,  James.  They  only  fill 
me  with  grief  and  the  sense  of  how  helpless  I  am  —  even  — 
even  —  with  those  I  love.  What  is  it  now,  James  ?  " 

"  An  insane  murderer  named  John  Brown  has  made  an  attack 
on  Harper's  Ferry  with  a  dozen  or  so  of  infatuated  followers." 
He  went  on  to  tell  briefly  the  miserable  story  of  a  madman's 
folly. 


WESTWAYS  287 

"The  whole  North  is  mad/'  said  Ann,  not  looking  up,  but 
knitting  faster  as  she  spoke,  "mad  —  the  abolitionists  of  Bos 
ton  are  behind  it."  It  was  too  miserably  true.  "Thank  you, 
James,  for  wanting  to  make  me  see  in  this  only  insanity." 

The  Squire  stood  still,  watched  by  the  pitiful  gaze  of  Leila. 
"  I  want  you,  Ann  —  I  wanted  you  to  see,  dear,  to  feel  how 
every  thoughtful  man  in  the  North  condemns  the  wickedness 
of  this,  and  of  any,  attempt  to  cause  insurrection  among  the 
slaves." 

"Yes  —  yes,  of  course  —  no  doubt  —  but  it  is  the  natural 
result  of  Northern  sentiment." 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Ann !  " 

"Keep  quiet,  child!" 

"  You  should  not  have  talked  politics  to  me,  James." 

"  But,  my  God,  Ann,  this  is  not  politics !  "  He  looked  down 
at  her  flushed  face  and  with  the  fatal  newspaper  in  his  hand 
stood  still  a  moment,  and  then  went  back  to  his  library.  There 
he  stayed  before  the  fire,  distressed  beyond  measure.  "Just 
so,"  he  said,  "  the  South  will  take  it  —  just  so." 

Ann  Penhallow  said,  "Where  did  you  leave  off,  Leila?  Go 
on,  my  dear,  with  the  book." 

"I  can't.  You  were  cruel  to  Uncle  Jim  —  and  he  was  so 
dear  and  sweet." 

"  If  you  can't  read,  you  had  better  go  to  bed."  Leila  broke 
into  tears  and  stumbled  up  the  stairs  with  half-blinded 
eyes. 

Ann  sat  long,  hearing  Penhallow's  steps  as  he  walked  to  and 
fro.  Then  she  let  fall  her  knitting,  rose,  and  went  into  the 
library. 

"James,  forgive  me.  I  was  unjust  to  say  such  things  —  I 
was—" 

"  Please  don't,"  he  cried,  and  took  her  in  his  arms.  "  Oh, 
my  love,"  he  said,  "we  have  darker  days  than  this  before  us. 
If  only  there  was  between  North  and  South  love  like  ours  — 


288  WESTWAYS 

there  is  not.     We  at  least  shall  love  on  to  the  end  —  no  matter 
what  happens." 

The  tearful  face  looked  up,  "  And  you  do  forgive  me  ?  " 
"  Forgive !     There  is  no  need  for  any  such  word  in  the  dic 
tionary  of  love."     Between  half-hysterical  laughter  and  ready 
tears,  she  gasped,  "  Where  did  you  get  that  prettiness  ?  " 
"  Eead  it  in  a  book,  you  goosey.     Go  to  bed." 
"  No,  not  yet.     This  crime  or  craze  will  make  mischief  ?  " 
"Yes,  Ann,  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  thing.     The  South 
will  be  in  a  frenzy,  and  the  North  filled  with  regret  and  horror. 
Now  go  to  bed  —  we  have  behaved  like  naughty  children." 
"  Oh,  James,  must  I  be  put  in  a  corner  ?  " 
"Yes  —  of  my  heart.     Now,  good  night." 

November  passed.  The  man  who  had  sinned  was  fairly  tried, 
and  on  December  2nd  went  to  a  well-deserved  death.  Pen- 
hallow  refused  to  talk  of  him  to  Eivers,  who  praised  the  courage 
of  his  last  hours. 

"  Mark,"  he  said,  "  I  have  been  twice  or  thrice  sure  I  was  to 
die  —  and  I  have  seen  two  murderers  hanged,  and  I  do  assure 
you  that  neither  they  nor  I  were  visibly  disturbed.  The  fact 
is,  when  a  fellow  is  sure  to  be  put  to  death,  he  is  either  dramatic 
—  as  this  madman  was  —  or  quietly  undemonstrative.  Mar 
tyr!  Nonsense!  It  was  simply  stupid.  I  don't  want  to  talk 
about  it.  Those  mischief-makers  in  Congress  will  howl  over 
it."  They  did,  and  secession  was  ever  in  the  air. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  figure  of  Lincoln  had  been  set  on  the  by-ways  of  State 
politics  by  his  debate  with  Douglas.  His  address  in 
New  York  in  February  of  1860  set  him  on  the  highways  of  the 
nation's  life.  Meanwhile  there  were  no  talks  about  politics 
at  Grey  Pine.  The  Christmas  Season  had  again  gone  by  with 
unwonted  economies. 

While  Douglas  defined  his  opinions  in  the  Senate  and  Jeffer 
son  Davis  made  plain  that  the  Union  would  be  dissolved  if  a 
radical  Republican  were  elected,  it  became  clear  that  the  Demo 
cratic  party  which  in  April  was  to  nominate  candidates  would 
be  other  than  of  one  mind.  Penhallow  in  Washington  heard 
Seward  in  the  Senate.  Of  this  memorable  occasion  he  wrote 
with  such  enthusiasm  to  Leila  as  he  rarely  showed: 

"  I  may  not  write  to  your  aunt,  and  I  am  moved  to  write  to 
you  by  the  effect  Mr.  Seward's  speech  had  on  me.  He  is  not 
much  of  a  man  in  his  make-up.  His  voice  is  husky  and  his 
gestures  are  awkward  and  have  no  relation  to  what  he  says.  It 
seemed  a  dried-up  sort  of  talk,  but  he  held  the  Senate  and  gal 
leries  to  fascinated  attention  for  two  hours,  and  was  so  appeal 
ing,  so  moderate.  The  questions  at  issue  were  handled 
with  what  Rivers  calls  and  never  uses  —  the  eloquence  of  mod 
eration.  I  suppose  he  will  be  the  nominee  of  the  Republican 
party.  It  won't  please  the  abolitionists  at  all.  I  wish  you 
could  have  heard  it. 

"  I  came  here  to  see  two  Southern  Senators  who  have  been 
counsel  for  us  in  regard  to  debts  owing  the  mills  by  Southern 
railways.  I  gathered  easily  that  my  well-known  Republican 
views  made  collection  difficult.  I  was  about  to  say  something 

289 


290  WESTWAYS 

angry  —  it  would  have  done  no  good,  and  I  am  opposed  to  use 
less  anger.  It  is  all  pretty  bad,  because  the  South  has  hardly 
felt  the  panic,  or  its  continued  effect  on  our  trade. 

"  I  am  wrong  to  trouble  you  with  my  troubles.  "We  shall 
pull  through. 

"Yours, 

"JAMES  PENHALLOW." 

"  P.  S.  I  should  have  been  prepared  for  my  failure  to  get 
fair  treatment.  I  had  learned  in  New  York  that  lists  of  aboli 
tion  houses  have  been  published  in  the  South,  and  Southern 
buyers  warned  not  to  place  orders  with  them.  I  wonder  if  I 
am  thus  listed.  Our  agent  in  Savannah  writes  that  it  is  quite 
useless  to  solicit  orders  on  account  of  the  prevalent  sentiment, 
and  he  is  leaving  the  town." 

Penhallow  went  home  disappointed  and  discouraged,  and 
called  a  private  meeting  of  his  Pittsburgh  partners.  He  set 
before  them  the  state  of  their  affairs.  There  would  be  no 
debts  collectible  in  the  South.  He  smiled  as  he  added  that  he 
had  collected  certain  vague  promises,  which  could  hardly  be 
used  to  pay  notes.  These  could  and  would  be  met,  they  said, 
but  finally  agreed  with  him  that  unless  they  had  other  orders, 
it  might  be  necessary  to  further  reduce  their  small  force.  His 
partners  were  richer  than  he,  but  indisposed  to  take  risks  until 
the  fall  conventions  were  over.  It  was  so  agreed.  As  they 
were  leaving,  Penhallow  said,  "  But  there  will  be  our  workmen 
—  what  will  become  of  them  ?  "  They  were  sure  times  would 
get  better,  and  did  not  feel  his  nearness  of  responsibility  for 
workmen  he  knew  so  long  and  so  well. 

He  rode  home  at  a  walk.  The  situation  of  his  firm  was  like 
that  of  many  others,  and  now  this  April  of  1860  business  doubts, 
sectional  feeling  and  love  of  country  seemed  to  intensify  the 
interest  with  which  all  classes  looked  forward  to  the  Charleston 
Democratic  Convention. 


WESTWAYS 

The  Convention  met  on  April  23rd.  It  was  grave  and  able. 
There  were  daily  prayers  in  the  churches  of  Charleston  for  the 
success  of  Southern  principles.  Henry  Grey,  a  delegate,  wrote 
to  his  sister: 

"  The  Douglas  platform  was  adopted  and  at  once  the  delega 
tions  of  six  cotton  States  withdrew.  We  who  cannot  accept 
Douglas  meet  in  Eichmond.  It  means  secession  unless  the  Re 
publicans  are  reasonable  when  they  nominate  in  Chicago.  Mr. 
Alexander  Stephens  predicts  a  civil  war,  which  most  men  I 
meet  here  consider  very  unlikely." 

Ann  handed  this  letter  to  her  husband,  saying,  "This  will 
interest  you." 

He  read  it  twice,  and  then  said,  "There  is  at  least  one  man 
in  the  South  who  believes  the  North  will  fight  —  Stephens." 

"But  will  it,  James?"  A  predictive  spectre  of  fear  rose 
before  her. 

Slowly  folding  the  letter  he  said,  "Yes,  the  South  does  not 
know  us."  She  walked  away. 

On  May  16th  the  Republicans  met  in  Chicago.  The  news 
of  the  nomination  of  Lincoln  came  to  the  Squire  as  riding  from 
the  mills  he  met  Dr.  McGregor  afoot. 

"  What,  walking !  "  he  said.  "  I  never  before  saw  you  afoot 
—  away  from  that  saint  of  a  mare." 

"  Yes,  my  old  mare  got  bit  by  something  yesterday  and  kicked 
the  gig  to  smithereens,  and  lamed  her  off  hind-leg." 

"  I  will  lend  you  a  horse  and  a  gig,"  said  Penhallow. 

"  Thanks,"  said  McGregor  simply.  "  I  am  sweating  through 
my  coat." 

"  But  don't  leave  my  horse  half  a  day  tied  to  a  post  —  any 
animal  with  horse-sense  would  kick." 

"As  if  I  ever  did  —  but  when  the  ladies  keep  me  waiting. 
Heard  the  good  news?  No —  We  have  nominated  Lincoln  — 
and  Hamlin." 


292  WESTWAYS 

"I  preferred  Seward.  You  surprise  me.  What  of  the  plat 
form?" 

"  Oh,  good !  The  Union,  tariff,  free  soil.  You  will  like  it. 
The  October  elections  in  Pennsylvania  will  tell  us  who  will  win 
—  later  you  will  have  to  take  an  active  part." 

"No.  Come  up  to-morrow  and  get  that  horse —  No,  I'll 
send  it." 

The  Squire  met  Eivers  on  the  avenue.  As  he  walked  beside 
the  horse,  he  said,  "  I  am  going  to  dine  with  you." 

"That  is  always  good,  but  be  on  your  guard  about  politics 
at  Grey  Pine.  Lincoln  is  nominated." 

" Thank  God!     What  do  you  think  of  it,  Squire?" 

"  I  think  with  you.  This  is  definite  —  no  more  wabbling. 
But  rest  assured,  it  means,  if  he  is  elected,  secession,  and  in  the 
end  war.  We  will  try  to  avert  it.  We  will  invent  compromises, 
at  which  the  South  will  laugh;  at  last,  we  will  fight,  Mark. 
But  we  are  a  quiet  commercial  people  and  will  not  fight  if  we 
can  avoid  it.  They  believe  nothing  will  make  us  fight.  The 
average,  every-day  Northerner  thinks  the  threat  of  secession  is 
mere  bluff." 

"Do  you  recall,  Squire,  what  Thucydides  said  of  the  Greeks 
at  the  time  of  the  Peloponnesian  War  ?  " 

"I  —  how  the  deuce  should  I?  —  what  did  he  say?" 

"  He  said  the  Greeks  did  not  understand  each  other  any 
longer,  although  they  spoke  the  same  language.  The  same 
words  in  Boston  and  in  Charleston  have  different  meanings." 

"But,"  said  Penhallow,  "we  never  did  understand  one  an 
other." 

"  No,  never.  War  —  even  war  —  is  better  than  to  keep  up 
a  partnership  in  slavery  —  a  sleeping  partnership.  Oh,  I 
would  let  them  go  —  or  accept  the  gage  of  battle." 

"Pretty  well  that,  for  a  clergyman,  Mark.  As  for  me,  hav 
ing  seen  war,  I  want  never  to  see  it  again.  This  may  please 
you."  As  he  spoke,  he  extracted  a  slip  of  paper  from  his  pocket- 


WESTWAYS  293 

book,  where  to  Leila's  amusement  queer  bits  of  all  kinds  of 
matters  were  collected.  Now  it  was  verse.  "Kead  that.  You 
might  have  written  it.  I  kept  it  for  you.  There  is  Ann  on  the 
porch.  Don't  read  it  now." 

Late  that  evening  Eivers  sat  down  to  think  over  the  sermon 
of  the  next  Sunday.  The  Squire  had  once  said  to  him,  "  War 
brings  out  all  that  is  best  and  all  that  is  worst  in  a  nation." 
He  read  the  verses,  and  then  read  them  aloud. 

They  say  that  war  is  hell,  the  great  accursed, 

The  sin  impossible  to  be  forgiven; 
Yet  I  can  look  beyond  it  at  its  worst 

And  still  find  blue  in  Heaven. 

And  as  I  note  how  nobly  natures  form 
Under  the  war's  red  reign,  I  deem  it  true 

That  He  who  made  the  earthquake  and  the  storm 
Perchance  makes  battles  too. 

The  life  He  loves  is  not  the  life  of  span 
Abbreviated  by  each  passing  breath; 
**It  is  the  true  humanity  of  man 
Victorious  over   death. 

"  No  great  thing  in  the  way  of  poetry  —  but  —  a  thought  —  a 
thought.  Oh,  I  should  like  to  preach  of  men's  duty  to  their 
country  just  now.  I  envy  Grace  his  freedom.  If  I  preached 
as  he  does,  people  would  say  it  was  none  of  a  preacher's  business 
to  apply  Christ's  creed  of  conduct  to  a  question  like  slavery. 
Mrs.  Penhallow  would  walk  out  of  the  church.  But  before  long 
men  will  blame  the  preacher  who  does  not  say,  '  Thou  shalt  love 
thy  country  as  thyself ' —  ah,  and  better,  yes,  and  preach  it  too." 
During  the  early  summer  of  I860,  James  Penhallow  guarded 
an  awkward  silence  about  politics.  Leila  found  that  her  uncle 
would  not  talk  of  what  the  closing  months  of  Buchanan's  ad 
ministration  might  contribute  to  insure  peaceful  settlement. 
John  Penhallow  was  as  averse  to  answering  her  eager  questions. 
Their  silence  on  matters  which  concerned  a  nation's  possible 


WESTWAYS 

dismemberment  and  her  aunt's  too  evident  distress  weighed 
heavily  upon  Leila.  The  newspapers  bewildered  her.  The 
Tribune  was  for  peaceful  separation,  and  then  later  was  against 
it.  Uncle  Jim  had  said  he  was  too  worried  about  the  mills 
to  talk  politics,  "Don't  ask  me,  Leila."  At  last,  an  errand  to 
Dr.  McGregor's  gave  her  the  chance  she  desired. 

"Yes,"  said  the  doctor,  "I'll  come  to-day.  One  of  the 
maids  ?  Well,  what  else,  Leila  ?  "  seeing  that  she  still  lingered. 

"  I  want  to  know  something  about  all  this  tangle  of  politics. 
There  's  Breckinridge,  Douglas,  Bell  and  Lincoln  —  four  can 
didates.  Uncle  Jim  gets  almost  cross  when  I  ask  him  what  they 
all  stand  for.  Mr.  Rivers  told  me  to  be  thankful  I  have  no 
vote.  If  there  is  to  be  war,  have  I  no  interest?  There  is  Un 
cle  Jim  —  and  —  and  John." 

The  doctor  said,  "  Sit  down,  Leila.  Your  uncle  could  answer 
you.  He  won't  talk.  I  don't  believe  John  Penhallow  owns 
any  politics  except  a  soldier's  blind  creed  of  devotion  to  the 
Flag." 

"  Oh,  the  Flag,  Doctor !  But  it  is  a  symbol  —  it  is  history. 
I  won't  write  to  a  man  any  more  who  has  no  certain  opinions. 
He  never  answers." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  see  how  hard  it  is  to  know  what  to  think ! 
One  State  after  another  is  seceding.  The  old  juggle  of  compro 
mises  goes  on  in  that  circus  we  call  Congress.  The  audience 
is  grimly  silent.  Crittenden's  compromise  has  failed.  The 
President  is  at  last  against  secession  —  and  makes  no  vigorous 
effort  to  reinforce  Fort  Sumter.  The  Cabinet  was  distinctly 
with  the  South  —  the  new  men  came  in  too  late.  You  —  a  girl 
—  may  well  call  it  a  tangle.  It  is  a  diabolical  cat's-cradle.  My 
only  hope,  my  dear,  is  in  a  new  and  practically  untried  man  — 
Abraham  Lincoln.  The  South  is  one  in  opinion  —  we  are  per 
plexed  by  the  fears  of  commerce  and  are  split.  There  you 
have  all  my  wisdom.  Read  the  news,  but  not  «the  weathercock 
essays  called  editorials.  Oh!  I  forgot  to  tell  the  Squire  that 


WESTWAYS  295 

Tom,  my  young  doctor,  has  passed  the  Army  Board  and  is 
awaiting  orders  in  Washington.  By-bye  !  " 

"  Tom  as  a  doctor  —  and  in  uniform,"  Leila  murmured,  a3 
her  horse  walked  away.  "  How  these  boys  go  on  and  on,  and  we 
women  just  wait  and  wait  while  men  dispose  of  our  fates." 

In  February  the  Confederacy  of  the  South  was  organising, 
and  in  March  of  1861  Mr.  Lincoln  was  President.  Penhallow 
groaned  over  Cameron  as  Secretary  of  War,  smiled  approval  of 
the  Cabinet  with  Seward  and  Chase  and  anxiously  waited  to 
see  what  Lincoln  would  do. 

Events  followed  fast  in  those  eventful  days.  On  the  thir 
teenth  of  April  Ann  Penhallow  sat  in  the  spring  sunshine  on 
the  porch,  while  Leila  read  aloud  to  her  with  entranced  attention 
"  The  Marble  Faun."  The  advent  of  an  early  spring  in  the 
uplands  was  to  be  seen  in  the  ruddy  colour  of  the  maples.  Bees 
were  busy  among  the  young  flowers.  There  was  noiseless  peace 
in  the  rrroveless  infant  foliage. 

"  How  still  it  is ! "  said  Leila  looking  up  from  the  book. 
They  were  far  from  the  madding  crowd.  "What  is  it, 
Billy?" 

He  was  red,  breathless,  excited,  and  suddenly  broke  out  in 
his  thin  boy-like  voice,  "  Hurrah !  They  've  fired  on  the  flag." 

"Who  — what  flag?" 

"Don't  know."  He  had  no  least  idea  of  what  his  words 
meant.  "  Don't  know,"  and  crying  "  Hurrah !  They  've  fired 
on  the  flag,"  fled  away. 

Ann  said,  "  Go  to  the  village  and  find  out  what  that  idiot 
meant." 

In  a  half  hour  Leila  came  back.     "  Well,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"The  Charleston  troops  have  fired  on  Fort  Sumter  —  My 
God !  Aunt  Ann  —  on  the  flag  —  our  flag !  " 

Ann  rose,  gathered  up  her  work,  hesitated  a  moment,  and  say 
ing,  "  That  is  bad  news,  indeed,"  went  into  the  house. 

Leila  sat  down  on  the  step  of  the  porch  and  broke  into  a 


296  WESTWAYS 

passion  of  tears,  as  James  Penhallow  coming  through  the  woods 
dismounted  at  her  side.  "  What  is  the  matter,  my  dear  child  ?  " 

"  They  have  fired  on  the  flag  at  Sumter  —  it  is  an  insult !  " 

"  Yes,  my  child,  that  —  and  much  more.  A  blunder  too ! 
Mr.  Lincoln  should  thank  God  to-day.  He  will  have  with  him 
now  the  North  as  one  man.  Colonel  Anderson  must  surrender ; 
he  will  be  helpless.  Alas  for  his  wife,  a  Georgia  woman !  —  and 
my  Ann,  my  dear  Ann." 

There  are  few  alive  to-day  who  recall  the  effect  caused  in  the 
States  of  the  North  by  what  thousands  of  men  and  women,  rich 
and  poor,  felt  to  be  an  insult,  and  for  the  hour,  far  more  to 
them  than  the  material  consequences  which  were  to  follow. 

When  Kivers  saw  the  working  people  of  the  little  town  passion 
ately  enraged,  the  women  in  tears,  he  read  in  this  outbreak  of 
a  class  not  given  to  sentimental  emotion  what  was  felt  when 
the  fatal  news  came  home  to  lonely  farms  or  great  cities  over 
all  the  North  and  West. 

Memorable  events  followed  in  bewildering  succession  during 
the  early  spring  and  summer  of  1861.  John  wrote  that  Beaure- 
gard  and  all  but  a  score  of  Southern  cadets  had  left  the  Point. 
Eobert  Lee?s  decision  to  resign  from  the  army  was  to  the  Squire 
far  more  sorrowfully  important. 

When  Lincoln's  call  to  arms  was  followed  in  July  by  the  de 
feat  of  Bull  Eun,  James  Penhallow  wrote  to  his  nephew : 

"  MY  DEAR  JOHN  :  Your  aunt  is  beyond  measure  disturbed. 
I  have  been  more  at  ease  now  that  this  terrible  decision  as  to 
whether  we  are  to  be  one  or  God  knows  how  many  is  to  be 
settled  by  the  ordeal  of  battle.  I  am  amazed  that  no  one  has 
dwelt  upon  what  would  have  followed  accepted  secession.  We 
should  have  had  a  long  frontier  of  custom  houses,  endless  rows 
over  escaping  slaves,  and  the  outlet  of  the  Mississippi  in  the 
possession  of  a  foreign  country.  Within  ten  years  war  would 
have  followed ;  better  let  it  come  now. 


WESTWAYS  297 

"I  am  offered  a  regiment  by  Governor  Curtin.  To  accept 
would  be  fatal  to  our  interests  in  the  mills.  It  may  become  an 
imperative  duty  to  accept;  but  this  war  will  last  long,  or  I 
much  underestimate  the  difficulties  of  overcoming  a  gallant  peo 
ple  waging  a  defensive  war  in  a  country  where  every  road  and 
creek  is  familiar. 

t  "Yours,  in  haste, 

"JAMES  PENHALLOW." 
John  wrote  later: 

"  MY  DEAR  UNCLE  :  Here  is  news  for  you !  All  of  my  class 
are  ordered  to  Washington.  I  shall  be  in  the  engineer  corps. 
I  see  General  MeClellan  is  put  in  command  of  the  army.  I  will 
write  again  from  Washington." 

Ann  Penhallow  heard  the  letter,  and  saying  merely,  "  It  had 
to  come !  "  made  the  bitter  forecast  that  it  would  be  James  Pen- 
hallow's  turn  next. 

John  wrote  again  as  he  had  promised,  but  now  to  Leila : 

"  At  last  we  are  in  this  crowded  city.  We  get  our  uniforms 
in  a  day  or  two.  I  am  a  lieutenant  of  engineers.  We  are  now 
in  tents.  On  arrival  we  were  marched  to  General  Scott's  head 
quarters,  and  while  drawn  up  in  line  Mr.  Lincoln  came  out.  He 
said  a  few  words  to  us.  His  appearance  was  strange  to  me.  A 
tall  stooping  figure,  in  what  our  village  calls  '  store  clothes/ 
but  very  neat ;  the  face  big,  homely,  with  a  look  of  sadness  in  the 
eyes.  He  shook  hands  with  each  of  us  in  turn,  saying  a  word 
of  encouragement.  Why  he  spoke  specially  to  me,  I  do  not 
know.  He  asked  my  name.  I  said  '  Penhallow.'  '  Oh/  he 
said,  '  a  Cornish  name  —  the  great  iron-works.  Do  you  know 
the  Cornish  rhyme  ?  It  rings  right  true.'  I  said,  '  N"o,  sir.' 
'  Well,  it  is  good.  Do  your  duty.  There  is  a  whole  creed  in  the 
word  —  man  needs  no  other.  God  bless  you,  boys.'  It  was 


298  WESTWAYS 

great,  Leila.  What  is  the  Cornish  rhyme?  Ask  Uncle  Jim. 
Write  me  care  of  the  Engineer  Camp. 

"  I  put  this  on  a  separate  slip  for  you.  In  Baltimore  we 
were  delayed  and  I  had  an  hour's  leave.  I  called  on  your  uncle, 
Charles  Grey.  He  is  Union  through  and  through.  His  brother 
Henry  has  gone  South.  While  I  was  walking  with  Mr.  Charles 
Grey,  a  lady  went  by  us,  drawing  away  her  skirts  with  quite 
unmistakable  contempt  and  staring  at  your  uncle  in  a  way 
which  was  so  singular  that  I  asked  what  it  all  meant.  He  re 
plied,  '  It  is  your  United  States  cadet  uniform  —  and  the  lady 
is  Mrs.  Henry  Grey.  I  am  not  of  their  acquaintance.'  This, 
Leila,  was  my  first  taste  of  the  bitterness  of  feeling  here.  It 
is  the  worse  for  the  uprising  of  union  feeling  all  over  Maryland. 

"  My  class-mates  are  rather  jolly  about  their  commissions 
and  the  prospect  of  active  war.  I  have  myself  a  certain  sense 
of  being  a  mere  cipher,  a  dread  too  of  failure.  I  can  say  so 
to  you  and  to  no  one  else.  I  am  going  where  death  is  in  the 
air  —  and  there  are  things  which  make  me  eager  to  live  —  and 

—  to  be  able  to  live  to  feel  that  I  have  done  my  duty.     Think 
ing  of  how  intensely  you  feel  and  how  you  grieve  over  being 
unable  to  do  more  than  pray,  I  mean  to  pet  a  little  the  idea 
that  I  am  your  substitute/' 

At  this  point  she  sat  a  while  with  the  letter  on  her  lap.  Then 
she  read  on : 

"  I  hoped  for  a  brief  furlough,  but  got  none,  and  so  I  shall 
apply  to  memory  and  imagination  for  frequent  leave  of  absence, 

—  from  duty. 

"  Yours, 

"JOHN-  PENHALLOW." 

"  To  pet  a  little  the  idea !     That  is  so  like  John.     Well,  yes 

—  I  don't  mind  being  petted  as  a  substitute  and  at  a  distance. 
It's  rather  confusing." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

IT  was  late  in  October  and  ten  at  night,  when  Leila  with  her 
uncle  was  endeavouring  to  discover  on  one  of  the  large 
maps,  then  so  much  in  demand,  the  situation  of  the  many  small 
conflicts  which  local  feeling  brought  about. 

"  It  all  wants  a  head  —  one  head,  Leila.  Now  it  is  here,  there 
and  everywhere,  useless  gain  or  loss  —  and  no  large  scheme. 
John  left  Washington  two  weeks  ago.  You  saw  his  letter  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  I  may  have  told  you  —  I  am  sure  I  did.  Damn  it, 
Leila !  I  am  so  bothered.  I  did  tell  Ann,  I  suppose." 

"  Why,  of  course,  Uncle  Jim.  I  wish  I  could  help  you.  Is  it 
the  mills?" 

"  Yes.  Your  little  property,  part  of  John's  —  your  aunt's  — 
are  all  in  the  family  business.  Ann  says,  c What's  the  differ 
ence  ?  Nothing  matters  now.'  It  is  n't  like  her." 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't  care,  Uncle  Jim." 

"Don't  talk  nonsense.  In  a  month  we  shall  know  if  we  are 
bankrupt.  I  did  not  mean  to  trouble  you.  I  did  mean  to  tell 
you  that  to  my  relief  John  is  out  of  Washington  and  ordered  to 
report  to  General  Grant  at  Cairo.  See,  dear,  there  is  a  pin 
marking  it  on  the  map." 

"  Do  you  know  this  General  ?  " 

"  Yes.  He  took  no  special  rank  at  the  Point,  but  —  who  can 
tell !  Generals  are  born,  not  made.  I  saw  a  beautiful  water- 
colour  by  him  at  the  Point.  That 's  all  I  know  of  him.  Now, 
go  to  bed  —  and  don't  take  with  you  my  worries  and  fight 
battles  in  your  dreams." 

There  was  in  fact  no  one  on  whom  he  could  willingly  un 
load  all  of  his  burdens.  The  need  to  relieve  the  hands  out  of 
work  —  two-thirds  of  his  force  —  was  growing  less  of  late,  as 

299 


300  WESTWAYS 

men  drifted  off  into  the  State  force  which  the  able  Governor  Cur- 
tin  was  sending  to  McClellan.  Penhallow's  friends  in  Pittsburgh 
had  been  able  to  secure  a  mortgage  on  Grey  Pine,  and  thus  aided 
by  his  partners  he  won  a  little  relief,  while  Eivers  watched  him 
with  increasing  anxiety. 

On  the  17th  of  January,  1862,  he  walked  into  McGregor's 
office  and  said  to  his  stout  friend,  "  McGregor,  I  am  in  the 
utmost  distress  about  my  wife.  Inside  my  home  and  at  the 
mills  I  am  beset  with  enough  difficulties  to  drive  a  man  wild. 
We  have  a  meeting  in  half  an  hour  to  decide  what  we  shall  do. 
I  used  to  talk  to  Ann  of  my  affairs.  No  one  has  or  had  a 
clearer  head.  Now,  I  can't." 

"Why  not,  my  friend?" 

"  She  will  not  talk.  Henry  Grey  is  in  the  Confederate 
service ;  Charles  is  out  and  out  for  the  Union ;  we  have  no  later 
news  of  John.  We  miserably  sit  and  eat  and  manufacture 
feeble  talk  at  table.  It  is  pitiful.  Her  duties  she  does,  as  you 
may  know,  but  comes  home  worn  out  and  goes  to  bed  at  nine. 
Even  the  village  people  see  it  and  ask  me  about  her.  If  it  were 
not  for  Leila,  I  should  have  no  one  to  talk  to." 

A  boy  came  in.     "  You  are  wanted,  sir,  at  the  mill  office." 

"  Say  I  will  come  at  once.  I  '11  see  you  after  the  meeting,  Mc 
Gregor." 

"  One  moment,  Squire.  Here  ?s  a  bit  of  good  news  for  you. 
Cameron  has  resigned,  and  Edwin  Stanton  is  Secretary  of  War." 

"  Stanton !  Indeed !  Thank  Heaven  for  that.  Now  things 
will  move,  I  am  sure." 

The  Squire  found  in  his  office  Sibley,  one  of  his  partners,  a 
heavy  old  man,  who  carried  the  indifferent  manners  of  a  farmer's 
son  into  a  middle  age  of  successful  business.  He  sat  with  his 
chair  tilted  back,  a  huge  Cabana  cigar  hanging  unlighted  from 
the  corner  of  his  mouth.  He  made  no  movement  towards  ris 
ing,  but  gave  his  hand  as  he  sat,  and  said :  "  There,  Penhallow, 
just  read  that !  " 


WESTWAYS  301 

As  the  Squire  took  the  telegram,  Sibley  scratched  a  match  on 
the  back  of  his  pantaloons  and  waiting  for  the  sulphur  to  burn 
out  lit  his  cigar.  Ever  after  the  smell  of  sulphur  brought  to 
the  Squire  of  Grey  Pine  the  sense  of  some  pleasant  association 
and  then  a  less  agreeable  remembrance. 

"  Read  it  —  read  it  out  loud,  Penhallow !  It  was  a  near 
thing.  Wardlow  could  n't  meet  us  —  be  here  at  noon.  Read  it 
—  I  've  read  it  about  ten  times  —  want  to  hear  it  again.  I  've 
been  as  near  broke  as  you  —  but  that's  an  old  story.  When 
you  're  at  your  last  dollar,  buy  a  fast  pair  of  trotters  —  one 
thousand-dollar  pair  —  and  drive  them.  Up  goes  your  credit ! 
Told  you  that  once." 

Penhallow  looked  up  from  the  telegram.     "Is  this  certain?" 

"  Yes,  it  has  been  repeated  —  you  can  rely  on  it." 

"WASHINGTON,  Willard's  Hotel. 

"Mr.  Stanton  has  given  contract  for  field  artillery  to  the 
Penhallow  Mills. 

"RICHARD  AINSELEY." 

Penhallow  had  read  it  aloud  as  he  stood.     Then  he  sat  down. 

"Don't  speak  to  me  for  a  moment,  Sibley.  Thank  God!" 
he  murmured,  while  the  care-wrinkled  face  of  the  veteran  specu 
lator  looked  at  him  with  a  faint  smile  of  affectionate  regard. 

"Well,"  said  Penhallow,  "is  this  all?" 

"  No.  While  Cameron  was  in  office  the  contract  was  drawn 
in  favour  of  the  Lancaster  Works.  We  have  been  urging  our 
own  claims,  and  their  Washington  agent,  your  very  particular 
friend,  Mr.  Swallow,  would  have  had  the  job  in  a  week  more. 
When  Stanton  saw  our  bid  and  that  it  was  really  a  more  ad 
vantageous  offer,  he  sent  first  for  Swallow  and  then  for  Ainse- 
ley  and  settled  it  at  once.  I  believe  your  name  and  well-known 
character  did  the  business.  Do  you  know  —  do  you  realize  what 
it  means  to  us  ?  " 


302  WESTWAYS 

"  Hardly.  I  had  no  hope  while  Cameron  was  in  office.  I 
left  it  to  you  and  Ainseley." 

"  Well,  you  will  see  the  contract  to-morrow."  He  wriggled 
on  to  one  leg  of  the  frail  office  chair  and  came  down  with  a  crash. 
He  gathered  up  his  two  hundred  pounds  and  laughing  said,  as 
he  looked  at  the  wreck,  "  That  ?s  what  we  would  have  been  to 
morrow  but  for  that  bit  of  yellow  paper.  In  six  months  you 
will  be  a  rich  man,  my  friend.  Cannon  —  shells  —  the  whole 
outfit.  We  must  get  to  work  at  once.  An  ordnance  officer  will 
be  here  to-morrow  with  specifications,  and  your  own  knowledge 
will  be  invaluable.  I  'd  like  to  see  Swallow  again.  He  was  so 
darned  sure ! " 

Wardlow  turned  up  by  the  noon  train,  and  they  worked 
until  dusk,  when  his  partners  left  him  to  secure  hands  in  Pitts 
burgh,  while  the  good  news  spread  among  the  men  still  at  work. 
Penhallow  rode  home  through  the  woods  humming  his  old  army 
songs  —  a  relieved  and  happy  man. 

The  Doctor  waited  a  half-hour  in  vain,  and  after  his  noon 
day  dinner  was  about  to  go  out  when  Mrs.  Penhallow  was  driven 
to  his  door.  Somewhat  surprised,  he  went  back  with  her. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  said.     "What  can  I  do  for  you?  " 

"  Oh,  for  me  nothing !  I  want  to  talk  about  my  husband. 
He  is  ill,  I  am  sure  —  he  is  ill.  He  eats  little,  he  sleeps  badly, 
he  has  lost  —  oh,  altogether  lost  —  his  natural  gaiety.  He 
hardly  speaks  at  all." 

The  Doctor  was  silent. 

"  Well,"  she  said. 

"  Can  you  bear  a  little  frank  talk  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes  — why  not?" 

"  Do  you  know  that  he  is  on  the  verge  of  complete  financial 
ruin?" 

"  What  does  that  matter  ?  I  can  —  I  can  bear  anything  — 
give  up  anything — " 


WESTWAYS  303 

"You  have  the  woman's  —  the  good  woman's  —  indifference 
about  money.  Do  you  talk  to  him  about  it  ?  " 

"  No.  We  get  on  at  once  to  the  causes  of  trouble  —  this  un 
righteous  war  —  that  I  can't  stand." 

"  Ah,  Mrs.  Penhallow,  there  must  be  in  the  North  and  South 
many  families  divided  in  opinion;  what  do  you  suppose  they 
do?  This  absolute  silence  is  fatal.  You  two  are  drifting 
apart  — " 

"  Oh,  not  that !     Surely  not  that !  " 

"Yes!  The  man  is  worried  past  endurance.  If  he  really 
were  to  fall  ill  —  a  serious  typhoid,  for  instance,  the  South 
and  your  brother  and  John,  everything  would  be  forgotten  — 
there  would  be  only  James  Penhallow.  It  would  be  better  to 
talk  of  the  war  —  to  quarrel  over  it  —  to  make  him  talk  business 
—  oh,  anything  rather  than  to  live  as  you  are  living.  He  is  not 
ill.  Go  home  and  comfort  him.  He  needs  it.  He  has  become 
a  lonely  man,  and  it  is  your  fault.  He  was  here  to-day  in  the 
utmost  distress  about  you  — " 

"About  me?" 

"Yes." 

"  There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  me ! " 

"Yes,  there  is  —  oh,  with  both  of  you.  This  war  will  last 
for  years  —  and  so  will  you.  All  I  have  to  say  is  that  my 
friend,  James  Penhallow,  is  worth  all  the  South,  and  that  soon 
or  late  he  will  stand  it  no  longer  and  will  go  where  he  ought  to 
be  —  into  the  army." 

"You  are  talking  nonsense  —  he  will  never  leave  the  mills." 
He  had  called  up  her  constant  fear. 

"  It  is  not  nonsense.  When  he  is  a  broken  man  and  you  and 
he  are  become  irritable  over  a  war  you  did  not  make  and  cannot 
end,  he  will  choose  absence  and  imperative  duty  as  his  only  re 
lief." 

As  she  stood  up,  red  and  angry,  she  said,  "  You  have  only  hurt 


304  WESTWAYS 

and  not  helped  me."  She  said  no  other  word  as  he  went  with 
her  to  the  wagon.  He  looked  after  her  a  moment. 

"Well,  well!  There  are  many  kinds  of  fools  —  an  intelli 
gent  fool  is  the  worst.  I  did  n't  help  her  any,  and  by  George ! 
I  am  sorry." 

When  at  twilight  the  doctor  came  home  from  distant  visits 
to  farms,  he  met  Leila  near  to  his  door.  "  I  want  to  see  you 
a  minute,"  she  said,  as  she  slipped  out  of  her  saddle. 

"  A  woman's  minute  or  a  man's  minute  ?  " 

"  A  man's." 

She  secured  her  mare  as  he  said,  "Well,  come  in.  It's 
rather  amusing,  Leila.  Sit  down.  I  've  had  James  Penhallow 
here  to  say  his  wife 's  breaking  down.  I  've  had  Mrs.  Pen- 
hallow  here  to  say  James  Penhallow  is  ill.  Except  the  maids 
and  the  cats  and  you,  all  Grey  Pine  is  diagnosing  one  another. 
And  now,  you  come!  Don't  tell  me  you're  ill  —  I  won't  have 
it." 

"  Please  don't  joke,  Doctor.  I  am  troubled  about  these  dear 
people.  I  talked  to  Mr.  Rivers  about  it,  and  he  is  troubled  and 
says  it  is  the  mills  and  money.  I  know  that,  but  at  the  bottom 
of  it  all  is  the  war.  Now  Aunt  Ann  is  reading  the  papers 
again  —  I  think  it  is  very  strange;  it's  confusing,  Doctor." 

"  Here,"  reflected  the  doctor,  "  is  at  least  one  person  with 
some  sense." 

She  went  on,  speaking  slowly,  "  Uncle  Jim  comes  home  tired. 
Aunt  Ann  eats  her  dinner  and  reads,  and  is  in  bed  by  nine. 
The  house  is  as  melancholy  as  —  I  feel  as  if  I  were  in  a  mouse 
trap—" 

"  Why  mouse-trap,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  It  sounds  all  right.  The  mouse  is  waiting  for  something 
awful  to  happen  —  and  so  am  I.  Uncle  Jim  talked  of  asking 
people  to  stay  with  us.  It 's  just  to  please  Aunt  Ann.  She 
said,  (  No,  James,  I  don't  want  any  one.'  He  wished  to  please 
her.  She  really  thinks  of  nothing  but  the  war  and  Uncle  Jim, 


WESTWAYS  305 

and  when  Uncle  Jim  is  away  she  will  spend  an  hour  alone  over 
his  maps.  She  has  —  what  do  you  call  it  —  ?  " 

"  Is  obsession  the  word  you  want  ?  " 

"Yes  — that's  it." 

"  Now,  Leila,  neither  you  nor  I  nor  Mark  Eivers  can  help 
those  two  people  we  love.  Don't  cry,  Leila ;  or  cry  if  it  will  help 
you.  When  you  marry,  be  sure  to  ask,  '  what  are  your  politics, 
Jeremiah  ? ' ;  His  diversion  answered  his  purpose. 

"  I  never  would  marry  a  man  named  Jeremiah." 

"  I  recommend  a  well-trained  widower." 

"I  prefer  to  attend  to  my  husband's  education  myself.  I 
should  like  a  man  who  is  single-minded  when  I  marry  him." 

"Well,  for  perversion  of  English  you  are  quite  unequalled. 
Go  and  flirt  a  bit  for  relief  of  mind  with  Mark  Eivers." 

"  I  would  as  soon  flirt  with  an  undertaker.  Why  not  with 
Dr.  McGregor?" 

"  It  would  be  comparable,  Leila,  to  a  flirtation  between  a 
June  rose  and  a  frost-bitten  cabbage.  Now,  go  away.  These 
people's  fates  are  on  the  lap  of  the  gods." 

"  Of  the  god  of  war,  I  fear,"  said  Leila. 

"Yes,  more  or  less."  He  sent  her  away  mysteriously  re 
lieved,  she  knew  not  why.  "  A  little  humour,"  he  reflected,  "  is 
as  the  Indians  say,  big  medicine." 

Whether  the  good  doctor's  advisory  prescription  would  have 
served  as  useful  a  purpose  in  the  case  of  Ann  Penhallow,  he 
doubted.  That  heart-sick  little  lady  was  driven  swiftly  home 
ward,  the  sleigh-runners  creaking  on  the  frozen  snow :  "  Walk 
the  horses,"  she  said  to  Billy,  as  they  entered  the  long  avenue, 
"  and  quit  talking." 

While  with  the  doctor  and  when  angrily  leaving  him,  she 
was  the  easy  victim  of  a  storm  of  emotions.  As  she  felt  the 
healthy  sting  of  the  dry  cold,  she  began  the  process  of  re-adjust 
ment  we  are  wise  to  practise  after  a  time  of  passion  when  by 
degrees  facts  and  motives  begin  to  reassume  more  just  proper- 


306  WESTWAYS 

tions.  He  had  said,  the  war  would  last  long.  That  she  had  not 
believed.  Could  she  and  James  live  for  years  afraid  to  speak 
of  what  was  going  on?  The  fact  that  her  much-loved  Mary 
land  did  not  rise  as  one  man  and  join  the  Confederacy  had 
disturbed  her  with  her  first  doubt  as  to  the  final  result  of  the 
great  conflict.  She  thought  it  over  with  lessening  anger  at  the 
terrible  thing  McGregor  had  said,  "  You  two  are  drifting  apart." 
This  sentence  kept  saying  itself  over  and  over. 

"  Stop,  Billy."  She  was  back  again  in  the  world  of  everyday. 
"  Get  in,  Mr.  Rivers.  We  are  both  late  for  our  Dante."  As 
she  spoke,  an  oppressed  pine  below  which  he  stood  under  a  big 
umbrella  was  of  a  mind  to  bear  its  load  no  longer  and  let  fall 
a  bushel  or  so  of  snow  on  the  clergyman's  cover.  His  look  of 
bewilderment  and  his  upward  glance  as  if  for  some  human  ex 
planation  routed  from  Ann's  mind  everything  except  amuse 
ment  over  this  calamity. 

"  You  must  not  mind  if  I  laugh."  She  took  for  granted  the 
leave  to  laugh,  as  he  said,  "  I  don't  see  where  the  fun  comes  in. 
It  is  most  disagreeable."  The  eloquent  eyes  expressed  calamity. 
It  was  really  felt  as  if  it  had  been  a  personal  attack. 

"  It  was  a  punishment  for  your  utterly  abominable  politics." 
For  the  first  time  for  months  she  was  her  unfettered  self.  His 
mind  was  still  on  his  calamity.  "  I  really  staggered  under  it." 

"  Shake  it  off  and  get  in  to  the  sleigh.  My  husband  ought 
to  have  all  the  big  pines  cut  down."  Eivers's  mind  had  many 
levels.  Sometimes  they  were  on  spiritual  heights,  or  as  now 
—  almost  childlike. 

"  To  stay  indoors  would  be  on  the  whole  more  reasonable,"  he 
said,  "  or  to  have  these  trees  along  the  avenue  shaken." 

"  I  'd  like  the  job,"  ventured  Billy. 

"  Keep  quiet,"  said  Mrs.  Ann. 

"  It  is  most  uncomfortable  as  it  melts,"  said  Rivers. 

Ann  thought  of  John  Penhallow's  early  adventure  in  the 
snow,  and  seeing  how  strangely  real  was  Mark  Rivers's  discom- 


WESTWAYS  307 

fort,  remarked  to  herself  that  he  was  like  a  cat  for  dislike  of 
being  wet,  and  was  thankful  for  her  privilege  of  laughing 
inwardly. 

Billy,  who  was,  as  Leila  said,  an  unexpectable  person,  con 
tributed  to  Ann  Penhallow's  sense  of  there  being  still  some 
available  fun  in  a  world  where  men  were  feebly  imitating  the 
vast  slaughters  of  nature.  He  considered  the  crushed  um 
brella,  the  felt  hat  awry,  and  the  disconsolate  figure.  "  Par 
son  do  look  crosser  than  a  wet  hen." 

Then  too  Eivers's  laugh  set  free  her  mirth,  and  Ann  Pen- 
hallow  laughed  as  she  had  not  done  for  many  a  day.  "  That 
is  about  my  condition,"  said  Eivers.  "  I  shall  go  home  and  get 
into  dry  clothes.  Billy,  you  're  a  poet." 

"  Don't  like  nobody  to  call  me  names,"  grunted  Billy. 

"I  wish  James  had  heard  that,"  cried  Ann,  while  Eivers 
gathered  up  the  remains  of  his  umbrella. 

As  Billy  drove  away,  Mrs.  Penhallow  called  back,  "  You  will 
come  to  dinner  to-day?" 

"  Thank  you,  but  not  to-day." 

As  Ann  came  down  the  stairs  to  the  hall,  Penhallow  was  in 
the  man's  attitude,  with  his  back  to  the  fire.  Leila  with  a  hand 
on  the  mantel  and  a  foot  on  the  fender  was  talking  to  her  uncle, 
an  open  letter  in  her  hand.  Ann  heard  him  say,  "  That  was 
in  October" — and  then — "Why  this  must  be  a  month  old!" 

"  It  must  have  been  delayed.  He  wrote  a  note  after  the 
fight  at  Belmont,  and  that  was  in  October.  He  did  write  once 
since  then,  but  it  was  hardly  worth  sending.  As  a  letter  writer, 
John  is  rather  a  failure,  but  this  is  longer."  She  laughed  gaily 
as  she  spread  open  the  letter. 

"  He  has  got  a  new  hero,  uncle  —  General  Grant.  John  is 
strong  on  heroes  —  he  began  with  you." 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense,"  said  the  Squire.     "  Eead  it." 

Leila  hesitated. 

"  Oh,  let 's  hear  it,"  cried  her  aunt. 


308  WESTWAYS 

"  Go  on,  dear,"  said  the  Squire. 

Leila  still  hesitated.  Usually  Ann  Penhallow  carried  away 
John's  rare  letters  to  be  read  when  alone.  Now  she  said,  with 
unnatural  deliberation.  "  Read  it ;  one  may  as  well  hear  his 
news;  we  can't  always  just  ignore  what  goes  on." 

Leila  a  little  puzzled  glanced  at  her  aunt.  The  Squire  pleased 
and  astonished  said,  "  Go  on,  my  dear." 

Turning  to  the  candles  on  the  hall  table,  Leila  read  the  let 
ter  :  — "  Why  how  long  it  has  been !  It  is  dated  November  20th." 

"DEAR  LEILA:  We  have  been  moving  from  place  to  place, 
and  although  I  know  or  guess  why,  it  is  best  left  out  of  letters. 
At  Belmont  General  Grant  had  a  narrow  escape  from  capture. 
He  was  the  last  man  on  board  the  boat.  He  is  a  slightly  built, 
grave,  tired-looking  man,  middle-aged,  carelessly  dressed  and 
eternally  smoking.  I  was  in  the  thick  of  the  row  —  a  sort  of 
aide,  as  there  was  no  engineer  work.  He  was  as  cool  as  a 
cucumber  — " 

"  Why  are  cucumbers  cool  ?  "  asked  Leila,  looking  up. 
"  Oh,  bother !     Go  on  !  "  said  Penhallow. 

"We  shall  move  soon.     Good-bye. 

"  JOHN-  PENHALLOW." 

Ann  made  no  comment.  The  Squire  said,  "It  might  have 
been  longer.  Come,  there  's  dinner,  and  I  am  hungry." 

Ann  looked  at  him.  He  was  gay,  and  laughed  at  her  account 
of  Rivers's  disaster. 

"  I  have  some  good  news  for  you,  Ann.  I  shall  keep  it  until 
after  dinner.  Then  we  can  talk  it  over  at  leisure.  It  concerns 
all  of  us,  even  John." 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  am  to  wait,"  said  Leila. 

"You will  have  to." 


WESTWAYS  309 

Ann  made  an  effort  to  meet  the  tone  of  gaiety  in  her  hus 
band's  talk,  and  when  the  wine  was  set  before  him,  he  said, 
"  Now,  Ann,  a  glass  —  and  Leila,  '  To  our  good  news  and  good 
luck  —  and  to  John/  ': 

They  followed  him  into  the  library,  and  being  in  sacrificial 
mood,  Ann  filled  a  pipe,  lighted  a  match,  and  said,  "  I  want  you 
to  smoke,  James." 

"  Not  yet,  dear.     Sit  down.'7 

"No,  I  want  to  stand."  She  stood  beside  the  fire,  a  little 
lady,  with  an  arm  around  the  waist  of  her  niece.  The  Squire 
seated  was  enjoying  the  suspense  of  his  eager  audience. 

"You  know,  dear  Ann,  that  for  two  years  or  more  the  mills 
have  been  without  large  orders.  We  have  been  in  the  most  em 
barrassing  situation.  Our  debts  " —  he  was  about  to  say,  '  in  the 
South 9 — "unpaid.  I  had  to  ask  you  to  help  us." 

This  was  news  to  Leila.  "  Why  mention  that,  James  ?  "  said 
her  aunt. 

"Well,  we  long  ago  lessened  our  force.  To  shut  down  en 
tirely  was  ruin,  but  when  we  met  to-day  we  were  to  decide 
whether  it  was  honest  to  borrow  more  money  and  stagger  on,  or 
as  I  thought,  honourable  to  close  the  mills  and  realize  for  our 
creditors  all  we  could." 

Ann  sat  down  with  some  feeling  of  remorse.  Why  had  she 
not  known  all  this?  Was  it  her  fault?  He  had  borne  it  for 
the  most  part  without  her  knowledge  —  alone.  "  My  God !  It 
is  true,"  she  reflected,  "we  have  drifted  apart."  He  had  hope 
fully  waited,  not  wanting  to  trouble  a  woman  already  so  obvious 
ly  sorrow-laden.  He  seemed  to  echo  her  thought. 

"You  see,  dear,"  and  the  strong  face  grew  tender,  "I  did 
not  mean  to  disturb  you  until  it  became  inevitable.  I  am  glad 
I  waited." 

Ann,  about  to  speak,  was  checked  by  his  lifted  hand.  "  Now. 
dear,  all  my  troubles  are  over.  Mr.  Stanton,  the  new  Secre 
tary  of  War,  has  signed  a  contract  with  our  firm  for  field  ar- 


310  WESTWAYS 

tillery.  It  is  a  fortune.  Our  bid  was  low.  A  year's  work  — 
shot,  shell  —  and  so  on.  Congratulate  me,  Ann." 

"My  God!"  he  cried,  "what  is  the  matter?" 

Ann  Penhallow  turned  quickly,  a  hand  on  the  table  staying 
herself.  "  And  you  —  you  are  to  make  cannon  —  you  —  and 
I  —  and  with  my  money !  "  she  laughed  hysterical  laughter  — 
"to  kill  my  people  the  North  has  robbed  and  driven  into  war 
and  insulted  for  years  —  I  —  I  — "  her  voice  broke  —  she  stood 
speechless,  pale  and  more  pale. 

Penhallow  was  appalled.     He  ran  to  catch  her  as  she  swayed. 

"  Don't  touch  me,"  she  cried.  "  I  feared  for  —  you  —  the 
army  —  but  never  this  —  this!"  Despite  her  resistance,  he 
laid  her  on  the  lounge. 

"  Leila,"  she  said,  "  I  want  to  go  upstairs  to  bed."  The  face 
became  white;  she  had  fainted. 

"  Is  she  dead  ?  "  he  said  hoarsely,  looking  down  at  her  pale 
face. 

"  No  —  no.  Carry  her  upstairs,  uncle."  He  picked  up  the 
slight  form  and  presently  laid  her  on  her  bed.  "Leave  her 
to  me,  Uncle  Jim.  I  have  seen  girls  in  hysterics.  Send  up 
a  maid  —  the  doctor!  No,  I  will  come  down  when  she  is  un 
dressed.  See,  her  colour  is  better." 

He  went  downstairs,  reluctant  to  leave  her.  In  the  library 
he  sat  down  and  waited.  An  hour  passed  by,  and  at  last  Leila 
reappeared.  She  kissed  him  with  more  than  her  usual  tender 
ness,  saying,  "  She  is  quiet  now.  I  will  lie  down  on  her  lounge 
to-night.  Don't  worry,  Uncle  Jim." 

This  advice  so  often  given  was  felt  by  him  to  be  out  of  his 
power  to  follow.  He  knew  very  well  that  this  he  would  have 
now  to  consider  was  not  only  a  mere  business  affair.  It  ceased 
to  be  that  when  he  heard  with  the  shock  of  bewilderment  his 
wife's  outburst  of  angry  protest.  He  loved  her  as  few  men  love 
after  many  years  of  married  life,  and  his  affection  was  still 
singularly  young.  His  desire  to  content  her  had  made  him  un- 


WESTWAYS  311 

wisely  avoid  talk  about  differences  of  opinion.  In  fact  his 
normal  attitude  was  dictated  by  such  gentle  solicitude  as  is  not 
uncommon  in  very  virile  men,  who  have  long  memory  for  the 
careless  or  casual  sharp  word.  To  the  end  of  his  days  he  never 
suspected  that  to  have  been  less  the  lover  and  more  the  clear 
sighted  outspoken  friend  would  have  been  better  for  her  and 
for  him.  He  sat  into  the  night  smoking  pipe  after  pipe, 
grappling  with  a  situation  which  would  have  presented  no 
difficulties  to  a  coarser  nature.  At  last  he  went  upstairs,  listened 
a  moment  at  Ann's  chamber  door,  and  having  smoked  too  much 
spent  a  thought-tormented  night,  out  of  which  he  won  one  con 
clusion  —  the  need  to  discuss  his  trouble  with  some  friend.  At 
six  he  rose  and  dressed,  asked  the  astonished  cook  for  an  egg 
and  coffee,  went  to  the  stables,  and  ordered  a  groom  to  saddle 
horses  and  follow  him. 

A  wild  gallop  over  perilously  slippery  roads  brought  him  to 
McGregor's  door,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  mills.  The 
doctor  was  at  breakfast,  and  rose  up  astonished.  "  What 's 
wrong  now,  Penhallow  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Oh,  everything  —  everything." 

"  Then  sit  down  and  let  us  talk.     What  is  it  ?  " 

The  Squire  took  himself  in  hand  and  quietly  related  his  story 
of  the  contract  and  his  wife's  reception  of  what  had  been  to  him 
so  agreeable  until  she  had  spoken. 

"  Can  you  bear  —  I  said  it  yesterday  to  Mrs.  Penhallow  —  a 
frank  opinion?" 

"Yes,  from  you  —  anything." 

"  Have  no  alarm  about  her  health,  my  friend.  It  is  only  the 
hysteria  of  a  woman  a  little  spoiled  by  too  tender  indulgence." 

The  Squire  did  not  like  it,  but  said,  "  Oh,  perhaps !  But 
now  —  the  rest  —  the  rest  —  what  am  I  to  do  ?  "  The  doctor 
sat  still  a  while  in  perplexed  thought.  "  Take  your  time,"  said 
Penhallow.  "  I  have  sent  the  horses  to  the  stable  at  the  mills, 
where  my  partners  are  to  meet  me  early  to-day.5' 


312  WESTWAYS 

The  doctor  said,  "  Mrs.  Penhallow  will  be  more  or  less  her 
self  to-day.  I  will  see  her  early.  There  are  several  ways  of 
dealing  with  this  matter.  You  can  take  out  of  the  business 
her  share  of  the  stock." 

"  That  would  be  simple.  My  partners  would  take  it  now  and 
gladly/' 

"What  else  you  do  depends  on  her  condition  of  mind  and 
the  extent  to  which  you  are  willing  to  give  way  before  the  per 
sistency  of  a  woman  who  feels  and  does  not  or  can  not  reason." 

"  Then  I  am  not  now  to  do  anything  but  tell  her  that  I  will 
take  her  stock  out  of  the  business." 

"  That  may  relieve  her.  So  far  I  can  go  with  you.  But, 
my  dear  Penhallow,  she  may  be  utterly  unreasonable  about  your 
manufacture  of  cannon,  and  what  then  you  may  do  I  cannot 
say.  How  long  will  it  be  before  you  begin  to  turn  out  cannon  ?  " 

"  Oh,  two  months  or  more.  Many  changes  will  be  needed, 
but  we  have  meanwhile  an  order  for  rails  from  the  Baltimore 
and  Ohio." 

"  Then  we  can  wait.  Now  I  am  off  for  Grey  Pine.  See  me 
about  noon.  Don't  go  back  home  now.  That  ?s  all." 

While  the  Squire  walked  away  to  the  mills,  McGregor  was 
uneasily  moving  his  ponderous  bulk  to  and  fro  in  the  room. 

"  It 's  his  damn  tender,  soft-hearted  ways  that  will  win  in  the 
end.  My  old  Indian  guide  used  to  say,  '  Much  stick,  good 
squaw/  Ann  Penhallow  has  never  in  her  whole  life  had  any 
stick.  Damn  these  sugar  plum  husbands !  I  'd  like  to  know 
what  Miss  Leila  Grey  thinks  of  this  performance.  Now,  there  's 
a  woman !  " 

When  after  a  night  of  deep  sleep  Ann  woke  to  find  Leila 
standing  by  her  bed,  she  rose  on  an  elbow  saying,  "  What  time 
is  it?  Why  are  you  here?" 

"  It  is  eight,  aunt.  You  were  ill  last  night ;  I  stayed  on  your 
lounge." 

Now  her  aunt  sat  up.     "  I  was  ill,  you  say  —  something  hap- 


WESTWAYS  313 

pened."  The  thing  pieced  itself  together  —  ragged  bits  of 
memories  storm-scattered  by  emotion  were  reassembled,  vague 
at  first,  then  quickly  more  clear.  She  broke  into  unnaturally 
rapid  speech,  reddening  darkly,  with  ominous  dilatation  of  the 
pupils  of  her  large  blue  eyes.  "  And  so  James  Penhallow  is  to 
be  made  rich  by  making  cannon  to  kill  my  people  —  oh,  I  re 
member  !  "  It  seemed  absurdly  childlike  to  Leila,  who  heard  her 
with  amazement.  "  And  with  my  money  —  it  is  easy  to  stay  at 
home  and  murder  —  and  be  paid  for  it.  Let  him  go  and  — 
fight.  That 's  bad  enough  —  I  — " 

"  God  of  Heaven,  Aunt  Ann !  "  the  girl  broke  in,  "  don't  dare 
to  say  that  to  Uncle  Jim.  Are  you  crazy  —  to  say  such  things." 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  am.  Oh,  those  cannon !  I  hear  them. 
He  shall  not  do  it  —  do  you  hear  me  ?  Now  send  me  up  a  cup 
of  tea  —  and  don't  come  in  again.  I  want  James  —  tell  him  — 
tell  him." 

"  He  went  away  to  the  mills  at  six  o'clock." 

"  I  know.  He  is  afraid  to  talk  to  me  —  I  want  to  see  him  — • 
send  for  him  at  once.  I  said  at  once  —  do  you  hear!  Now 
go." 

As  Leila  turned  to  leave,  she  heard  a  knock  at  the  door,  said 
"  Come  in,"  and  to  her  relief  saw  enter  large  and  smiling  the 
trusted  doctor.  As  he  neared  the  bed,  Ann  fell  back  speech 
less  and  rigid. 

"Ah,  Leila!  That  makes  it  all  plain.  There  is  no  danger. 
Close  the  blinds ;  I  want  the  room  darkened.  So  !  Come  into 
the  back  room  —  leave  the  door  ajar."  He  selected  a  trust 
worthy  chair  and  sat  down  with  deliberate  care.  "  Now  listen 
to  me,  my  dear.  This  is  pure  hysteria.  It  may  last  for  days 
or  weeks  —  it  will  get  well.  It  is  the  natural  result  of  birth, 
education,  worry,  etc. —  and  a  lot  of  darned  et  ceteras.  When 
you  let  loose  a  mob  of  emotions,  you  get  into  trouble  —  they 
smash  things,  and  this  is  what  has  become  of  one  of  God's 
sweetest,  purest  souls." 


314  WESTWAYS 

"It  is  most  dreadful,  Doctor;  but  what  shall  we  do  with 
Uncle  Jim.  If  she  has  a  mere  cold  in  the  head,  he  is  troubled." 

"  Yes  —  yes."  The  doctor  took  counsel  with  himself.  "  I 
will  send  up  old  Mrs.  Lamb  to  help  you  —  she  is  wise  in  the 
ways  of  sick  women.  Take  your  rides  —  and  don't  fret  over  this 
suicide  of  reason."  He  was  pleased  with  his  phrase.  "  Let  her 
see  Penhallow  if  she  asks  for  him,  but  not  if  you  can  help  it. 
It  is  all  as  plain  as  day.  She  has  been  living  of  late  a  life  of  un 
wholesome  suppression.  She  has  been  alarmed  by  Penhallow's 
looks,  hurt  by  her  brothers'  quarrels,  and  heart-sick  about  the 
war  and  John.  Then  your  uncle  springs  on  her  this  contract 
business  and  there  is  an  explosion." 

After  giving  careful  orders,  he  went  away.  To  Penhallow 
he  said,  "  When  you  are  at  home  keep  out  of  her  room.  If 
you  have  to  see  her,  tell  her  nothing  has  been  done  or  will  be  for 
months.  The  time  will  come  when  you  will  have  to  discuss 
matters." 


CHAPTER  XX 

LEILA  GREY  never  forgot  the  month  which  followed.  Pen- 
hallow  was  mercifully  spared  the  sight  of  the  drama  of 
hysteria,  and  when  not  at  the  mills  went  about  the  house  and 
farm  like  a  lost  dog;  or,  if  Leila  was  busy,  took  refuge  with 
Rivers.  Even  the  war  maps  claimed  no  present  interest  until 
a  letter  came  from  John  after  the  capture  of  Fort  Donaldson. 
At  evening  they  found  the  place  on  the  map. 

"  Well,  now  let  's  hear  it.  Ann  is  better,  McGregor  says." 
He  was  as  readily  elated  as  depressed.  "  Does  she  ask  for  me  ?  " 

"  No/'  said  Leila,  "  at  first  she  did,  but  not  now/' 

"  Read  the  letter,  my  dear." 

"  DEAR  LEILA  :  I  wrote  to  Aunt  Ann  and  Uncle  Jim  a  fort 
night  ago — " 

"Never  came,"  said  Penhallow. 

"  I  am  called  an  engineer,  but  there  is  no  engineering  required, 
so  I  am  any  General's  nigger.  I  have  been  frozen  and  thawed 
over  and  over.  No  camp  fires  allowed,  and  our  frozen  15,000 
besieged  21,000  men.  General  S.  T.  Smith  picked  me  up  as  an 
aide,  and  on  the  15th  personally  led  a  charge  on  the  Rebel  lines, 
walking  quietly  in  front  of  our  men  to  keep  them  from  firing. 
It  did  not  prevent  the  Rebs  from  abusing  our  neutrality.  It  was 
not  very  agreeable,  but  we  stormed  their  lines  and  I  got  off  with 
a  bit  out  of  my  left  shoulder  —  nothing  of  moment.  Now  we 
have  them.  If  this  war  goes  on,  Grant  will  be  the  man  who 
will  end  it.  I  am  too  cold  to  write  more.  Love  to  all. 

"  General  Smith  desires  to  be  remembered  to  Uncle  Jim, 
and  told  me  he  was  more  than  satisfied  with 

"Yours, 

"  JOHN  PENHALLOW." 
315 


316  WESTWAYS 

"  Is  n't  that  delightful,  Uncle  Jim  ?  But  every  night  I  think 
of  it  —  this  facing  of  death.  I  see  battles  and  storming  parties. 
Don't  you  see  things  before  you  fall  asleep?  I  can  see  what 
ever  I  want  to  see  —  or  don't  want  to." 

"  Never  saw  anything  of  the  kind  —  I  just  go  to  sleep/' 

"  I  thought  everybody  could  see  things  as  I  do." 

"See  John  too,  Leila?     Wish  I  could." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "sometimes."  In  fact,  she  could  see  at 
will  the  man  who  was  so  near  and  so  dear  and  a  friend  to-day 
—  and  in  that  very  lonely  time  when  the  house  was  still  and 
the  mind  going  off  guard,  the  something  indefinitely  more. 

The  Squire,  who  had  been  studying  the  map,  was  now  stand 
ing  before  the  fire  looking  up  where  hung  over  the  mantel  his 
sword  and  the  heavy  army  pistols.  He  turned  away  as  he  said, 
"  Life  is  pretty  hard,  Leila.  I  ought  to  be  here  —  here  making 
guns.  I  want  to  be  where  my  class-mates  are  in  the  field.  I 
can't  see  my  way,  Leila.  When  I  see  a  duty  clearly,  I  can  do 
it.  Now  here  I  have  to  decide  what  is  my  duty.  There  is  no 
devil  like  indecision.  What  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  question  as  to  what  you  will  do,  not  I  —  and  —  oh, 
dear  Uncle  Jim,  it  is,  you  know,  what  we  call  in  that  horrid 
algebra  the  X  of  the  equation." 

"  I  must  see  your  Aunt  Ann. '  Is  she  " —  and  he  hesitated  — 
"  is  she  herself  ?  " —  he  would  not  say,  quite,  sane. 

"  She  is  not  at  all  times." 

"  How  far  must  I  consider  her,  or  be  guided  by  the  effect  my 
decision  will  have  on  her?  There  are  my  partners  to  consider. 
The  money  does  not  influence  me  —  it  is  Ann  —  Ann."  Then 
she  knew  that  he  would  make  any  sacrifice  necessary  to  set  Ann 
Penhallow  at  ease.  "I  think,"  she  said  as  she  rose,  "that  we 
had  better  go  to  bed." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  he  said.  "  Wait  a  moment.  Your  aunt 
told  me  that  I  had  better  go  where  there  was  war  —  she  could 
not  have  guessed  that  I  have  lived  for  months  with  that  tempta- 


WESTWAYS  317 

tion.  I  shall  end  by  accepting  a  command.  Now  since  her  re 
proach  I  shall  feel  that  war  offers  the  bribe  of  ease  and  relief 
from  care." 

"  I  know,  the  call  of  duty  —  you  will  have  to  go.  But,  oh, 
my  God !  it  is  very  terrible/' 

"  The  fact  is,  this  sudden  good  fortune  for  a  time  so  set  me 
at  ease  that  I  lost  sight  of  my  honest  craving  for  action.  Now 
I  ought  to  thank  Ann  for  making  me  see  what  I  ought  to  do  — 
must  do.  But  how  —  how?  It  will  clear  up  somehow.  Good 
night." 

It  was  the  end  of  March  before  McGregor  told  Penhallow  that 
Mrs.  Penhallow  insisted  on  seeing  him.  "  Now,  Squire,"  he 
said,  "you  will  be  shocked  at  her  appearance,  but  she  is  really 
well  in  body,  and  this  thing  has  got  to  be  set  at  rest.  She  talks 
of  it  incessantly." 

Penhallow  entered  the  dimly  lighted  room  and  passed  his 
old  nurse,  Mrs.  Lamb,  as  she  whispered,  "  Don't  stay  long,  sir." 
He  was  shocked  as  he  won  clearer  vision  in  the  dim  light. 

"  Oh,  James ! "  she  said,  "  they  would  n't  let  me  see  you. 
Open  the  shutters."  He  obeyed,  and  kneeling  kissed  the  wasted 
face  he  loved  so  well.  The  commonplaces  of  life  came  to  his 
aid  as  he  kissed  her  again,  and  she  said,  "  Dear  me,  James,  you 
have  n't  shaved  to-day." 

"  No,  I  am  going  to  stop  at  the  barber's  —  but  I  miss 
Josiah." 

She  smiled.     "Yes,  poor  Josiah." 

Then  he  took  courage,  fearfully  timid  as  men  are  when  they 
confront  the  illness  of  women.  "  I  want  to  say  to  you,  Ann, 
that  having  your  power  of  attorney  I  have  withdrawn  your  fifty 
thousand  dollars  you  had  lent  to  the  mills.  My  partners  were 
glad  to  take  it."  He  said  nothing  of  their  surprise  at  the  offer. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  returned  feebly.  "  And  you  are  going  on 
with  the  business  ?  "  her  voice  rising  as  she  spoke. 

"  We  will  talk  of  that  later,  Ann.     I  was  told  not  to  let  you 


318  WESTWAYS 

talk  long.  I  shall  endeavour  to  invest  your  money  so  as  to  give 
you  a  reasonable  return  —  it  will  take  time." 

He  did  not  succeed  in  diverting  her  attention.  She  put  out 
a  thin  hand  and  caught  his  sleeve.  "  Do  you  think  me  unrea 
sonable,  James  ?  " 

"  Yes/'  he  said,  and  it  needed  courage. 

"  I  was  sure  you  would  say  so."  The  great  blue  eyes,  larger 
for  the  wasted  setting  of  nature's  wonderful  jewels,  looked  up 
at  him  in  dumb  appeal.  "Won't  you  think  a  little  of  how  I. 
feel  —  and  —  and  shall  feel  ?  " 

"Think  a  little  — a  little?"  he  returned;  "I  have  done 
nothing  else  but  think." 

"You  don't  answer  me,  James."  There  was  the  old  quiet, 
persistent  way  he  had  known  in  many  happy  days,  reinforced 
by  hysteric  incapacity  to  comprehend  the  maze  of  difficulties  in 
which  he  was  caught. 

"  It  is  a  pity  I  did  not  die,"  she  said,  "  that  would  have  saved 
you  all  this  trouble." 

He  felt  the  cruelty  of  her  words  as  he  broke  away  and  left 
the  room.  McGregor  had  waited,  and  hearing  his  story  said, 
"It  will  pass.  You  must  not  mind  it  —  she  is  hardly 
sane." 

James  Penhallow  mounted  and  rode  to  the  village,  was  duly 
shaved,  and  went  on  to  the  post-office.  Mrs.  Crocker  rotund 
and  rosy  came  out  and  handed  him  as  he  sat  in  the  saddle  a 
sheaf  of  letters.  "Yes,  Mrs.  Penhallow  is  better,  thank  you." 
As  he  rode  away  the  reins  on  Dixy's  neck,  he  read  his  letters 
and  stuffed  them  in  his  pocket  until  he  came  to  one,  over  which 
he  lingered  long.  It  ran  thus : 

"  MY  DEAR  SIR  :  Will  you  not  reconsider  the  offer  of  the 
colonelcy  of  a  regiment?  It  will  not  require  your  presence  un 
til  July.  There  is  no  need  to  reply  at  once.  There  is  no  one 
else  so  entirely  fit  for  such  a  charge,  and  the  Attorney- General, 


WESTWAYS  319 

your  friend  Meredith,  unites  with  me  in  my  appeal  to  you. 
The  State  and  the  country  need  you. 

"Yours  truly, 

"  ANDREW  CURTIN." 

He  reached  but  one  conclusion  as  he  turned  the  tempting: 
offer  over  in  his  mind,  and  acting  on  it  wrote  the  Governor  from 
his  office  that  his  wife  was  at  present  too  ill  for  him  to  consider 
the  offer  of  a  command. 

As  day  by  day  he  sat  with  Ann,  to  his  relief  she  ceased  to  dwell 
on  the  matter  which  had  so  disturbed  her,  and  rapidly  regain 
ing  health,  flesh  and  strength,  began  to  ask  about  the  house  and 
the  village  people.  It  was  a  happy  day  when  in  May  he  carried 
her  down  to  a  hammock  on  the  porch.  A  week  later  she  spoke 
again,  "  What  conclusion  have  you  reached  ?  "  she  said. 

"  About  the  mills  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Ask  me  in  a  week,  Ann.  Do  you  want  to  read  John's 
letters?  There  are  several  —  one  about  a  battle  at  Pittsburgh 
Landing  in  Tennessee/' 

"  I  want  to  hear  nothing  of  the  war.     Is  he  well  ?  " 

"Yes,  thank  God."  The  news  of  McClellan's  army  was 
anything  but  satisfactory,  and  more  and  more  the  soldier  longed 
to  be  in  the  field. 

Early  in  June,  Penhallow  on  his  way  to  meet  his  partners 
paused  at  McGregor's  house  to  ask  his  opinion  of  his  wife. 
"How  do  I  find  her?  Better  every  day  —  more  herself.  But 
what  of  you  ?  " 

"  Of  me  ?  I  can  stand  it  no  longer,  Doctor.  I  cannot  see 
this  war  in  Virginia  go  on  to  the  end  without  taking  part 
in  it.  I  must  —  do  anything  —  anything  —  make  any  sacri 
fice." 

"  But  your  wife  —  the  mills  — " 

"  I  have  but  one  answer  —  my  country !     I  told  you  I  had 


320  WESTWAYS 

refused  Governor  Curtin's  offer  —  what  to  do  about  our  con 
tract  I  do  not  yet  know.  They  are  reorganizing  the  artillery 
service/' 

"  And  yon  would  like  that  best?  " 

"  Yes.     What  amuses  you  ?  " 

The  doctor  smiled  often,  but  as  Mrs.  Crocker  said,  when  he 
did  laugh  it  was  as  good  as  a  Fourth  of  July  celebration  and  the 
house  shook.  As  the  Squire  watched  him,  the  smile  broadened 
out  in  circles  from  the  mouth  like  the  ripples  cast  by  a  stone 
on  still  water;  then  the  eyes  grew  merrily  busy  and  the  big 
frame  shook  with  laughter. 

"  Well,  now,  Squire !  To  give  up  making  guns  and  go  in  for 
using  them  —  well  —  well !  " 

"  Don't  chaff  me,  McGregor ;  I  mean  to  be  in  it,  cost  what  it 
may.  I  am  to  meet  my  partners  —  good-bye." 

The  doctor  wondered  what  Ann  Penhallow  would  do  or  say. 
It  was  past  guessing  but  he  saw  clearly  that  Penhallow  was  glad 
of  any  excuse  to  get  into  the  field. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Ainseley,"  said  Penhallow.  "  Good  morn 
ing,  Sibley.  You  will  find  things  moving.  Many  casting 
moulds  will  be  ready  by  this  day  week." 

"  Last  night,"  said  Sibley,  the  richer  member  of  the  firm,  "  I 
had  a  telegram  from  Austin,  the  iron-man.  He  asks  what  we 
would  take  to  transfer  our  contract.  I  replied  that  we  did  not 
deal  that  way  with  Government  contracts.  To-day  I  got  this 
other  —  read  it." 

"  On  what  terms  will  you  take  me  in  ?  My  ore,  as  you 
know,  is  not  hematite  and  is  better  than  yours." 

Penhallow  sat  still  reading  the  telegram  again  and  again. 
Here  was  an  unlooked-for  way  out  of  his  troubles.  At  last  he 
looked  up,  and  to  their  surprise  said,  "  My  capital  in  the  busi 
ness  is  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars,  and  you  —  the 
firm — pay  me  a  rental  of  ten  thousand." 

"  Not  last  year,"  said  Ainseley ;  "  we  could  not,  as  you  know." 


WESTWAYS  321 

"Yes.  Our  partnership  ends  this  July  1st.  Wire  Austin 
that  I  will  sell  him  my  share  and  go  out.  You  may  ask  him 
what  bonus  you  please  —  I  mean,  I  will  sell  to  you  at  one  hun 
dred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  —  the  rental  will  go  on,  of 
course/' 

"  My  heavens ! "  cried  Sibley,  "  what  do  you  mean  ?  It  is 
throwing  away  a  fortune,  man  —  a  fortune." 

Penhallow  laughed.  "  And  yet  I  mean  to  do  it.  The  work 
is  ready  to  go  on.  You  will  have  ordnance  officers  here  —  you 
won't  miss  me." 

They  argued  with  him  in  vain.  "Waldron  not  altogether  dis 
satisfied  sat  still,  wondering  how  much  bonus  Austin  would 
stand,  while  Ainseley  and  Sibley  troubled  for  their  friend  and 
not  well  pleased,  fought  his  decision.  "  Are  you  fully  resolved 
on  this,  Penhallow?"  said  Sibley. 

"  I  am.  I  cannot  take  out  the  small  amount  of  money  John 
Penhallow  owns.  It  must  remain,  at  least  for  a  time,  and  will 
be  a  convenience  to  you.  My  wife's  money  is  already  out.  It 
was  only  a  loan." 

"  But  why  should  not  you  sell  out  to  Austin,"  said  Sibley,  "  if 
you  mean  to  leave  us,  and  get  out  of  him  a  profit  —  and  why 
after  all  this  act  of  supreme  folly?  Pardon  me,  it  is  that  — 
really  that " 

Penhallow  smiled.  "  I  go  out  of  this  business  because  I  simply 
cannot  stay  out  of  the  army.  I  could  not  be  a  soldier  and  ac 
cept  continuous  profits  from  a  Government  contract.  Imagine 
what  would  be  said !  For  the  same  reason  I  cannot  sell  to  Aus 
tin  at  an  advance.  That  is  clear  —  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Ainseley,  "  and  I  am  sorry.     Think  it  over." 

"  I  have  done  my  thinking.  It  will  take  the  lawyers  and  you 
at  least  two  months  to  settle  it  and  make  out  the  papers.  After 
July  1st  I  shall  not  come  to  the  mills.  I  mean  to  leave  no  oc 
casion  for  unpleasant  comment  when  I  re-enter  the  service.  Of 
course,  you  will  advertise  your  new  partnership  and  make  plain 


322  WESTWAYS 

my  position.  I  am  sorry  to  leave  you,  but  most  glad  to  leave 
you  prosperous.  I  will  put  it  all  on  paper,  with  a  condition  that 
at  the  close  of  the  war  —  I  give  it  three  years  —  I  shall  be  free 
to  replace  Austin  —  that  is,  if  the  Eebs  don't  kill  me/' 

As  he  mounted  at  evening  to  ride  home,  he  was  aware  of  Leila. 
"  Halloa,  Uncle  Jim !  As  Mr.  Rivers  was  reading  Dante  to 
Aunt  Ann,  I  begged  off,  and  so  here  I  am  —  thought  I  would 
catch  you.  I  haven't  been  on  a  horse  for  a  week.  The  mare 
knows  it  and  enjoyed  the  holiday.  She  kicked  Pole's  bull  ter 
rier  into  the  middle  of  next  week." 

"  A  notable  feat.  I  wish  some  one  would  kick  me  into  the 
middle  of  August." 

"  What 's  wrong,  Uncle  Jim  ?  Aunt  Ann  is  every  day  better ; 
John  is  well ;  you  don't  look  unhappy.  Oh,  I  know  when  any 
thing  really  is  the  matter." 

"  No,  I  am  happier  than  I  have  been  for  many  a  day.  You 
know  what  Rivers  says,  '  In  the  Inn  of  Decision  there  is  rest,'  — 
some  oriental  nonsense.  Well,  I  am  a  guest  in  the  Inn  of  De 
cision,  but  I  've  got  to  pay  the  bill." 

"  Please  not  to  talk  riddles,  uncle.  I  have  gone  through  so 
much  this  spring  —  what  with  aunt  and  this  terrible  war  —  and 
where  John  is  we  don't  know.  I  heard  from  Aunt  Margaret. 
She  says  that  we  escape  the  endless  reminders  of  war  —  the  ex 
tras  called  at  night,  heard  in  church,  great  battle  on  the  Poto 
mac,  lists  of  killed  and  wounded.  It  must  be  awful.  You  buy 
a  paper  —  and  find  there  was  no  battle." 

"  Yes,  we  escape  that  at  least.  I  have  made  arrangements  to 
close  my  partnership  on  July  1st." 

"Oh,  Uncle  Jim!" 

"  The  President,  I  hear,  will  call  for  three  hundred  thousand 
men  —  I  can  stand  it  no  longer  —  I  am  eating  my  heart  out.  I 
refused  a  regiment  some  time  ago;  now  I  shall  ask  for  one.  I 
wrote  at  once  to  the  Governor." 


WESTWAYS  323 

She  leaned  over,  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm  and  said,  "  Is  not  one 
dear  life  enough  ?  " 

"  My  child,  John  had  to  go.  I  could,  of  course,  find  some  ex 
cuse  for  not  going.  I  set  myself  free  to-day.  But  now  I  am 
to  settle  with  Ann.  Except  for  that  I  would  be  supremely  con 
tented.  You  would  not  keep  me  here  if  you  had  the  power,  nor 
would  you  bring  home  John  if  you  could,  dear." 

"No/'  she  said  faintly.  Some  quickly  dismissed  suspicion 
rose  to  consciousness  as  he  stole  a  glance  at  her  face.  "  I  un 
derstand,"  she  added,  "  it  is  a  question  of  honour  —  you  must 
go." 

"  It  is  a  question  of  duty,  dear ;  but  what  Ann  will  say  I  do 
not  know  —  but  I  shall  go." 

She  turned.  "Uncle  Jim,  if  you  did  not  go  and  the  war 
went  on  to  —  God  alone  knows  what  end  —  she  would  be  sick 
with  shame.  I  know.  You  see  I  am  a  woman  and  I  know. 
She  will  suffer,  but  she  will  not  break  down  again  and  she  will 
not  try  to  hold  you  back.  But  this  house  without  you  and  John 
will  be  rather  lonely.  How  did  you  get  out  of  the  mills, 
uncle?" 

He  answered  her  at  length  as  they  rode  homeward  with  more 
to  think  of  than  was  pleasant.  At  the  avenue  gate  she  said 
earnestly,  "  Don't  wait  too  long  before  telling  Aunt  Ann." 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  am  sorry,"  returned  the  Squire,  "  for  the 
unfortunate  man  who  may  become  your  husband.  If  you  under 
take  to  offer  advice  at  your  tender  years,  what  will  you  do  when 
you  are  older  ?  " 

"  My  husband-that-is-to-be  sends  you  his  compliments," 
laughed  Leila,  "  and  says  —  I  don't  know  what  he  says,  but  it  is 
exactly  the  right  thing,  Captain  Penhallow.  But  really,  don't 
wait,  uncle." 

"You  are  quite  right,  my  dear."  Nevertheless  he  waited. 
Decisiveness  in  affairs  and  in  moments  of  peril  he  had,  but 


324:  WESTWAYS 

where  Ann  was  concerned  he  became  easily  unsure,  and  as  Mc 
Gregor  said,  "  wabbled  awful."  This  was  to  Leila.  "  What  gets 
the  matter  with  men  ?  The  finer  they  are,  the  braver  —  the  more 
can  a  woman  bother  their  judgment.  He  wires  for  a  regimen 
tal  command  —  gets  it;  and,  by  George,  throws  away  a  fortune 
to  get  the  privilege  of  firing  a  cannon  at  Mrs.  Ann's  be 
loved  Eebels.  He  must  n't  make  guns  it  seems  —  he  tries  not  to 
believe  her  hysterics  at  all  affected  by  his  tossing  away  this  big 
contract." 

"  Now,  Doctor,  you  are  in  one  of  your  cynical  moods.  I  hate 
you  to  talk  this  way  about  the  finest  gentleman  I  ever  knew,  or 
ever  shall  know.  You  delight  to  tease  me." 

"Yes  —  you  are  so  real.  No  one  could  get  hysterics  out  of 
you.  Now  why  do  you  suppose  James  Penhallow  wants  to  plunge 
into  this  chaotic  war?" 

"  Or  your  son,  Tom  ?  Why  do  you  get  up  of  a  winter  night 
to  ride  miles  to  see  some  poor  woman  who  will  never  pay  you 
a  penny?" 

"  Pure  habit." 

"  Nonsense.  You  go  —  and  Uncle  Jim  goes  —  because  to  go 
is  duty." 

"  Then  I  think  duty  is  a  woman  —  that  accounts  for  it,  Leila. 
I  retire  beaten." 

"You  are  very  bad  to-day  —  but  make  Uncle  Jim  talk  it  all 
out  to  Aunt  Ann." 

"  He  will,  and  soon.  He  has  been  routed  by  a  dozen  excuses. 
I  told  him  at  last  that  the  mill  business  has  leaked  out  and  the 
village  is  saying  things.  I  told  him  it  must  not  come  to  her  ex 
cept  through  him,  and  that  he  could  not  now  use  her  health  as 
an  excuse  for  delay.  It  is  strange  a  man  should  be  so  timid." 

And  still  Penhallow  lingered,  finding  more  or  less  of  reason 
in  the  delays  created  by  the  lawyers.  Meanwhile  he  had 
accepted  the  command  of  the  129th  Pennsylvania  infantry 
which  was  being  drilled  at  Harrisburg,  so  that  he  was  told  there 


WESTWAYS  325 

was  no  occasion  for  haste  in  assuming  charge.  But  at  last  he 
felt  that  he  must  no  longer  delay. 

The  sun  was  setting  on  an  afternoon  in  July  when  Pen- 
hallow,  seeing  as  she  sat  on  the  porch  how  the  roses  of  the  spring 
of  health  were  blooming  on  his  wife's  cheeks,  said,  "  I  want  to 
talk  to  you  alone,  Ann.  Can  you  walk  to  the  river  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  was  there  yesterday/' 

The  cat-birds,  most  delightful  of  the  love-poets  of  summer, 
were  singing  in  the  hedges,  and  as  they  walked  through  the  gar 
den  Penhallow  said,  "The  rose  crop  is  promising,  Ann." 

"  Yes."  She  was  silent  until  they  sat  on  the  bank  above  the 
little  river.  Then  she  said,  "  You  are  keeping  something  from 
me,  James.  No  news  can  trouble  me  as  much  as  —  as  to  be  sure 
that  I  am  kept  in  the  dark  about  your  affairs." 

"  I  meant  to  be  frank,  Ann,  but  I  have  felt  so  alarmed  about 
your  health  — " 

"You  need  not  be  —  I  can  bear  anything  but  not  to 
know  — " 

"  That  is  why  I  brought  you  here,  my  dear.  You  are  aware 
that  I  took  out  of  the  business  the  money  you  loaned  to  us." 

"  Yes  —  yes  —  I  know." 

"  I  have  given  up  my  partnership  and  withdrawn  my  capital. 
The  business  will  go  on  without  me." 

"  Was  this  because  —  I  ?  —  but  no  matter.     Go  on,  please." 

He  was  incapable  of  concealing  the  truth  from  her,  however 
much  he  might  have  disguised  it  from  others.  "  You  had  your 
share  in  causing  me  to  give  up,  but  for  a  year  since  this  war  has 
gone  on  from  one  disaster  to  another,  I  have  known  that  as  a 
soldier  I  must  be  in  it." 

She  was  perfectly  calm.  "  I  have  long  known  it  would  come, 
James.  To  have  you  and  John  and  my  brother  Henry  —  all  in 
it,  is  a  hard  fate." 

"  My  dear,  Charles  writes  me  that  Henry  has  left  the  army 
and  gone  to  Europe  on  business  for  the  Confederates." 


326  WESTWAYS 

"  Indeed."  Some  feeling  of  annoyance  troubled  her.  "  Then 
he  at  least  is  in  no  danger." 

"  None,  my  dear." 

"When  do  you  go?" 

"  I  am  to  command  the  129th  Infantry,  and  I  shall  leave  about 
August  1st." 

"  So  soon ! "  She  sat  still,  thinking  over  what  Grey  Pine 
would  be  without  him.  He  explained  as  she  sat  that  all  details 
of  his  affairs  would  be  put  for  her  clearly  on  paper.  He  ended 
by  saying,  "  Ask  me  any  questions  you  want  answered." 

"  Then,  James,  there  will  be  no  income  from  the  mills  —  from 
—  from  that  contract  ?  " 

"None,  except  my  rental.  With  that  you  may  do  as  you 
please.  There  will  be  also,  of  course,  at  your  disposal  the  in 
come  from  my  re-invested  capital." 

"  Thank  you,  James."  She  was  by  far  the  less  moved  of  the 
two. 

"  Have  I  greatly  troubled  you  ?  "  he  asked.  He  was  distressed 
for  her. 

"  No,  James.  I  knew  it  would  come."  As  the  shadows  dark 
ened  on  the  forest  floor  and  gathered  overhead,  she  rose  to  her 
feet.  "  Whatever  happens,  James  —  whoever  wins  —  I  am  the 
loser.  I  want  you  to  be  sorry  for  me." 

"  And,  my  dear  Ann,  whichever  way  this  contest  ends,  I  too 
lose." 

She  returned  with  tender  sadness,  "  Yes,  I  did  not  think  of 
that.  Give  me  your  arm,  James  —  I  am  —  tired." 

He  wondered  that  she  had  said  nothing  of  the  immense  sacri 
fice  few  men  would  have  made ;  nor  did  she  seem  to  have  realized 
what  urgency  of  added  motives  she  had  contributed  to  bring 
about  his  decision. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THROUGH  the  great  heat  of  July,  1862,  the  war  went  on  its 
inconclusive  way.  In  Westways,  as  elsewhere,  the  call  of 
the  people's  President  for  three  hundred  thousand  men  was  felt 
the  more  thoughtfully  because  now  it  was,  of  course,  known  that 
Penhallow  was  Colonel  of  the  129th  Infantry ;  that  he  had  made 
a  great  sacrifice  of  money  was  also  known,  but  not  understood, 
and  Ann  Penhallow's  half-forgotten  politics  were  again  dis 
cussed  when  the  village  evening  parliament  met  in  front  of  the 
post-office. 

Mrs.  Crocker,  off  duty,  stood  framed  in  the  door,  cooling  her 
round  face  with  a  palmetto  fan  and  listening  with  interest  to  the 
talk  or  taking  part  in  the  discussion  in  so  positive  a  way  as  was 
felt  to  be  indiscreetly  feminine,  but  respected  on  account  of  her 
official  representation  of  a  husband  too  deaf  to  fulfil  his  duties. 

The  Doctor  got  out  of  his  gig.     "  Any  letters  from  my  boy  ?  " 

"Yes,  two.  Wanted  to  send  them  by  Billy,  but  he's  war- 
wild  and  would  n't  go."  The  Doctor  looked  over  his  letters. 

"  All  right,  I  hope,"  said  Mrs.  Crocker. 

Pole  in  his  shirt  sleeves  listening  said,  "  Of  course,  he  is  all 
right  —  doctors  don't  fight  none/' 

"  Send  your  son,  Pole,  before  you  talk  nonsense,"  said  Mc 
Gregor.  "  My  boy  got  a  ball  in  his  leg  at  Malvern  Hill." 

"  My  son 's  going  along  with  the  Squire,"  returned  Pole, 
"  leaves  me  short  of  help,  and  my  wife  's  about  crazy  over  it." 

"  What  about  Mrs.  Penhallow  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Crocker.  "  I  guess 
she 's  the  kind  that  don't  show  what  she  feels." 

"  Oh,  money 's  a  great  comforter,"  returned  the  butcher. 
"  What  I  'm  to  do,  I  don't  know." 

327 


328  WESTWAYS 

"  Well,  I  'm  going  too/'  said  Joe  Grace,  "  and  father  says  I  'm 
right." 

"  Oh,  here 's  the  parson/'  said  Pole,  as  Eivers  approached. 
"  He 's  like  the  rest  of  them  —  all  for  war." 

"  Well,  Pole/'  said  Eivers,  "  how  are  you  and  Mrs.  Crocker  ? 
I  think  you  are  getting  thin  this  hot  weather." 

"  Am  I  ?  No  such  good  luck.  We  are  talking  war,  Mr. 
Eivers.  I  do  hear  that  what  with  the  mill-boys  and  country 
fellows  there  's  some  thirty  going  into  the  Colonel's  regiment." 

"  So  I  hear.  On  Sunday  I  mean  to  talk  to  them  after  service. 
You  might  say  so." 

"  I  will.     If  I  had  a  boy,  he  should  go,"  said  Mrs.  Crocker. 

"  It 's  easy  talking  when  you  have  n't  none,"  said  Pole.  "  We 
are  gettin'  licked,  and  some  day  Lee  will  be  over  the  border. 
It 's  just  useless  to  spend  money  and  cripple  men." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  when  Mrs.  Crocker  spoke. 
"  Pole,  you  are  n't  ever  sure  of  your  legs.  You  were  all  for 
Buchanan,  and  then  all  for  Lincoln.  Now  you  're  uneasy  on  the 
top  rail  of  the  fence  and  the  rail  ain't  round."  The  parliament 
broke  into  laughter,  and  with  more  talk  dissolved  after  some 
critical  wisdom  about  the  war. 

It  was  July  30th,  after  ten  at  night,  the  day  before  the  final 
Sunday  of  the  month.  The  Colonel  of  the  129th  stood  with 
Leila  before  a  big  war  map.  "  This  fight  at  Malvern  Hill " — 
he  put  a  pin  on  the  place  — "  was  a  mistake  on  the  part  of  Lee, 
and  yet  he  is  a  master  of  the  game.  He  was  terribly  beaten  — 
an  aggressive  general  would  have  attacked  at  once." 

"  Would  he  have  won,  uncle  ?  " 

"  I  think  so  —  but  after  a  defeat  these  armies  are  as  dan 
gerous  as  a  cornered  cat." 

"  But,  dear  Uncle  Jim,  what  is  the  matter  with  us  ?  —  We  have 
men,  money  and  courage." 

"  Well,  this  is  how  I  see  it.     Neither  side  has  a  broad-minded 


WESTWAYS  329 

General  in  command  of  the  whole  field  of  war.  Every  day  sees 
bits  of  fights,  skirmishes,  useless  loss  of  life.  There  is  on  neither 
side  any  connected  scheme  of  war.  God  knows  how  it  will  end. 
I  do  not  yet  see  the  man.  If  Eobert  Lee  were  in  absolute  com 
mand  of  all  the  effective  force  of  the  South,  we  would  have 
trouble." 

"  But  if  he  is  so  good  a  soldier,  why  did  he  make  what  you  call 
a  frontal  attack  on  entrenched  troops  at  Malvern  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  when  two  men  spar  and  neither  can  quite  end  the 
fight,  one  gets  angry  or  over-confident  and  loses  his  head,  then 
he  does  something  wild  —  and  pays  for  it." 

"  I  see.     You  leave  on  Monday  ?  " 

«  Yes  —  early." 

"  Mr.  Eivers  means  to  talk  after  service  to  the  men  who  are 
enlisting." 

a  So  he  told  me.     I  begged  him  to  be  moderate." 

"  He  asked  me  for  a  text,  uncle." 

"  Well ! " 

"  I  gave  him  the  one  about  Caesar  and  God." 

"What  put  that  into  your  head  —  it  does  not  seem  suit 
able?" 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  so  ?  Some  one  once  mentioned  it  to  me. 
I  could  preach  on  it  myself,  but  texts  grow  wonderfully  in  his 
hands.  They  glow  —  oh,  they  get  halos  about  them.  He  ought 
to  be  in  a  great  city." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  Mark  Eivers  has  his  limitations  like  all  of  us. 
He  would  die.  Even  here  he  has  to  be  watched.  McGregor  told 
him  last  year  that  he  was  suffering  from  the  contagion  of  other 
people's  wickedness  with  occasional  acute  fits  of  over-conscien 
tiousness.  Eivers  said  it  was  incomprehensible  nonsense ;  he  was 
almost  angry." 

"  And  yet  it  is  true,  Uncle  Jim." 

"  I  'm  glad  I  have  n't  the  disease.  I  told  McGregor  as  much. 
By  George !  he  said  my  variety  of  the  disorder  was  about  other 


330  WESTWAYS 

folk's  stupidity.  Then,  when  I  said  that  I  didn't  understand 
him,  he  laughed.  He  makes  me  furious  when  he  only  laughs  and 
won't  answer  —  and  won't  explain." 

"  Why,  uncle !  I  love  to  see  him  laugh.  He  laughs  all  over 
—  he  shakes.  I  told  him  it  was  a  mirthquake.  That  set  him  off 
again.  Was  Tom  McGregor  badly  hurt?  " 

"  No,  not  badly." 

"  Will  aunt  go  to  church  to-morrow  ?  " 

"No." 

"I  thought  she  would  not.  I  should  love  to  see  you  in  uni 
form." 

"  Not  here,  my  dear,  but  I  will  send  you  a  daguerreotype." 

When  on  this  Sunday  long  remembered  in  Westways,  the  tall 
figure  of  Mark  Rivers  rose  to  open  the  service,  he  saw  the  little 
church  crowded,  the  aisles  filled,  and  in  the  front  pews  Penhal- 
low,  his  niece,  and  behind  them  the  young  men  who  were  to  join 
his  regiment.  Grace  had  asked  his  own  people  to  be  present, 
and  here  and  there  were  the  mothers  and  sisters  of  the  recruits, 
and  a  few  men  on  crutches  or  wasted  by  the  fevers  of  the  Vir 
ginia  marshes.  Mark  Elvers  read  the  morning  service  as  few 
men  know  how  to  read  it.  He  rarely  needed  the  prayer-book  — 
he  knew  it  all.  He  gave  to  it  the  freshness  of  a  new  message  of 
love  and  helpfulness.  More  than  ever  on  this  Sunday  Leila  felt 
a  sense  of  spiritual  soaring,  of  personally  sharing  the  praises  of 
the  angel  choir  when,  looking  upwards,  he  said :  "  Therefore 
with  angels  and  archangels  and  all  the  company  of  heaven  we 
laud  and  magnify  Thy  glorious  name."  She  recalled  that  John 
had  said,  "  When  Mark  Rivers  says  '  angels  and  archangels '  it  is 
like  the  clash  of  silver  cymbals." 

He  gave  out  at  the  close  his  favourite  hymn,  "Lead,  Kindly 
Light."  It  was  well  and  sweetly  sung  by  the  girl-choir.  As  the 
music  closed  he  rose  —  a  figure  of  command,  his  spare  frame 
looking  larger  for  his  robes.  For  a  silent  moment  his  eloquent 


WESTWAYS  331 

eyes  wandered  over  the  crowd,  gathering  the  attentive  gaze  of 
young  and  old,  then  he  said :  "  I  want  to  talk  on  this  unusual 
occasion  for  a  little  while,  to  you  who  are  answering  the  call  of 
a  man  who  is  like  a  father  calling  his  sons  to  a  task  of  danger. 
My  text  is:  'Bender,  therefore,  unto  Caesar  the  things  which 
are  Caesar's  and  unto  God  the  things  which  are  God's.'  The 
wonder  of  the  great  texts  is  that  they  have  many  applications  as 
time  runs  on.  You  know  the  familiar  story.  Payment  of  the 
tax  meant  obedience  to  the  Government,  to  law,  to  order.  I 
would  that  I  had  the  power  to  make  you  see  with  me  the  scene. 
It  is  to  me  so  very  distinct.  The  Pharisees  desire  to  tempt  him, 
a  Jew,  into  a  statement  treasonable  to  the  Roman  rule  they  had 
accepted.  Was  it  right  for  the  Jew  to  pay  the  tax  which  sus 
tained  this  Government?  He  had,  as  you  may  remember,  al 
ready  paid  it  for  Peter  and  himself.  He  asks  for  the  penny  bear 
ing  Caesar's  head  and  answers  them  in  the  words  of  the  text, 
'  Render  unto  Caesar,  therefore,  the  things  which  are  Caesar's.' 
He  returns  the  penny.  I  wonder  where  that  little  coin  is  to-day  ? 
It  has  gone,  but  the  lesson  it  read  remains  forever ;  nor  even  to 
day  is  the  Pharisee  gone  with  his  invidious  temptations.  You 
are  to-day  obeying  a  greater  than  Caesar.  You  are  meeting  the 
material  obligations  of  a  day  of  discouragement  —  and  for  some 
a  day  of  doubt. 

"  The  nobler  applications  which  lie  within  the  meaning  of  the 
latter  part  of  the  text  He  answers  more  fully  than  was  asked: 
'  Render  unto  God  the  things  which  are  God's.'  What  are  these 
things  which  are  at  need  to  be  rendered  to  Him?  What  larger 
tax  ?  Ease  —  comfort  —  home  —  the  strong  bodies  which  make 
work  safe  and  pleasant.  He  asks  of  you  the  exercise  of  unusual 
qualities  —  the  courage  which  looks  death  in  the  face  and  will 
not  take  the  bribe  of  safety,  of  life,  at  the  cost  of  dishonour.  Ah  ! 
not  in  battle  is  my  fear  for  you.  In  the  long  idleness  of  camps 
will  come  your  hours  of  temptation.  Think  then  of  those  at 
home  who  believe  in  you.  It  is  a  great  thing  to  have  an  out- 


332  WESTWAYS 

side  conscience  —  wife,  mother,  sister.     Those  are  hours  when 
it  is  hard  to  render  unto  God  what  he  gave. 

"  We  are  now,  as  I  said,  at  a  time  of  discouragement.  There 
are  cowards  who  would  yield  —  who  would  compromise — men 
who  want  peace  at  any  cost.  You  answer  them  nobly.  Here, 
in  this  sacred  cause,  if  He  asks  it,  we  render  life  or  the  easy 
competencies  of  youth  in  its  day  of  vigour." 

The  man  paused.  The  strange  power  of  the  eyes  spoke  to 
them  in  this  moment  of  silence.  "  Oh !  I  said  the  cause  was 
sacred  —  an  unbroken  land.  He  gave  you  that,  just  for  wide- 
world  uses.  Keep  it !  Guard  it !  —  with  all  that  Union  of  the 
States  meant  and  still  means  to-day.  You  are  not  to  blame  for 
this  necessity  —  war.  The  man  who  bends  unpaid  over  the 
master's  cotton-field  is  the  innocent  cause  of  all  this  bloodshed. 
If  there  were  no  slavery,  there  would  have  been  no  war.  But 
let  there  be  no  hatred  in  the  brave  hearts  you  carry.  God  did 
not  slay  Saul,  the  earnest  —  I  might  say  —  the  honest  persecu 
tor.  He  made  him  blind  for  a  time.  The  awful  charity  of  God 
is  nowhere  else  so  wonderful.  These  gallant  people  you  are  go 
ing  to  meet  will  some  day  see  that  God  was  opening  their  eyes 
to  better  days  and  nobler  ways.  They  too  are  honest  in  the  be 
lief  that  God  is  on  their  side.  Therefore,  let  there  be  no  bit 
terness. 

"  Some  of  you  are  what  we  call  religious.  Do  not  be  ashamed 
of  it.  The  hardest  fighters  the  world  has  known  were  men  who 
went  to  battle  with  arms  invisible  to  man.  A  word  more  and  I 
have  done.  I  have  the  hope  —  indeed  the  certainty  —  that  I* 
shall  be  sent  to  the  field  on  errands  of  mercy  and  helpfulness. 
We  may  meet  again.  And  now,  take  with  you  the  earnest  will 
to  render  unto  God  what  things  He  gave  for  His  highest  uses. 
Now  let  us  offer  the  prayer  for  the  volunteers  our  great  Bishop 
desires  the  Church  to  use.  Let  us  pray." 

In  unusual  silence  the  congregation  moved  away,  a  silence 


WESTWAYS  333 

shared  by  Leila  and  her  uncle.  At  last  she  said,  "  Uncle  Jim,  I 
wish  Aunt  Ann  could  have  heard  that  sermon  —  it  could  not 
have  hurt  her." 

"  Perhaps  not," 

"  I  wonder  why  she  has  so  great  a  respect  for  him,  so  real  a 
friendship.  He-  thinks  slavery  the  sin  of  sins.  He  has  very 
little  charity  about  it  —  oh,  none  —  and  Aunt  Ann  is  as  sure 
it  is  a  divinely  appointed  relation." 

"  They  fought  it  out,  my  dear,  in  his  early  days  at  Westways, 
and  when  they  both  found  that  they  were  clad  in  the  armour  of 
changeless  beliefs  no  arguments  could  penetrate,  they  gave  up 
and  took  of  two  fine  natures  what  was  left  for  life's  uses  and  be 
came  friends.  At  least,  that  is  how  McGregor  put  it.  He  some 
times  states  things  well." 

"I  see,"  said  Leila  thoughtfully,  and  set  herself  to  thinking 
whether  if  she  had  radical  differences  of  opinion  with  some  one, 
she  could  settle  into  a  condition  of  armed  neutrality.  Then  she 
wondered  if  war  made  changes  in  the  character  of  a  man. 

Presently  she  asked,  "Why,  Uncle  Jim,  are  you  suddenly  in 
such  haste  to  go  ?  " 

"  There  is  need  of  haste.  I  could  not  tell  Ann ;  I  can  tell  you. 
We  were  never  worse  off  since  the  war  began.  The  Governor 
asks  me  to  meet  him  in  Harrisburg.  What  he  fears  is  that  in 
September  Lee  will  cross  the  Potomac,  with  the  hope  of  Mary 
land  rising.  Our  Governor  will  call  out  fifty  thousand  militia. 
He  wants  me  to  take  a  command;  I  shall  take  it,  but  Lee's  vet- 
e'rans  would  brush  our  militia  away  like  summer  flies.  If  he 
finds  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  before  him,  there  may  be  a  dif 
ferent  story.  I  hope,  please  God,  to  be  with  it.  There  you  have 
all  I  know,  but  it  is  for  you  alone.  My  regiment  will  go  to  the 
front  before  the  end  of  the  month." 

"  You  will  write  to  me,  uncle." 

"Yes,  when  I  can.    Your  aunt  asks  me  to  write  often,  but 


334  WESTWAYS 

not  to  write  about  the  war,  as  if  —  well,  no  matter.     But  I  can 
write  to  you.     Good  night  —  and  be  brave,  dear  —  and  Ann! 
You  will  watch  over  her  ?  " 
"  Yes,  surely." 

Ann  Penhallow  having  sorrowfully  made  up  her  mind  that 
her  husband's  honour  required  his  return  to  the  army  saw  to  it 
with  her  usual  efficiency  that  everything  he  might  need  was  care 
fully  provided.  At  bed-time  of  that  Sunday  she  said  quietly, 
"  Good  night  and  good-bye,  James.  I  do  not  want  to  be  called 
to-morrow  to  say  good-bye.  You  will  be  off  by  six.  Leila  will 
give  you  your  breakfast.  Write  often."  She  was  to  appearance 
cheerful  and  even  gay,  as  she  paused  on  the  stairs  laughing. 
"  These  men,"  she  cried,  "  I  wonder  how  they  do  without  women 
orderlies.  At  the  last  moment  I  found  you  had  left  your  razors 
—  good-night !  " 

The  Colonel's  eyes  followed  her  slight  form  a  little  puzzled  and 
not  entirely  pleased  at  this  easy  dismissal  of  sentiment,  when  he 
knew  what  he  himself  would  have  done  if  she  had  flown  the 
least  signal  of  distress.  He  turned  to  Leila.  "  I  am  very  much 
relieved,  my  dear,  to  see  that  your  aunt  is  taking  my  departure 
quietly.  I  was  afraid  of  another  breakdown,  and  I  could  not 
have  stayed  a  day  longer." 

Leila  who  had  watched  this  parting  with  some  anxiety  said, 
"I  was  a  little  uneasy  myself,  but  really  Aunt  Ann  was  great." 
She  could  have  made  the  well-loved  Colonel  miserable  by  trans 
lating  for  him  into  the  tongue  of  man  the  language  of  the 
actress  on  the  stairs.  "  I  wonder,"  she  reflected,  "  if  all  men  are 
that  blind,  or  only  the  heroic  or  unimaginative." 

Colonel  Penhallow  was  detained  by  consultations  with  the 
Governor  and  by  regimental  work  until  near  the  close  of  August, 
when  his  command  was  hurried  forward  to  join  McClellan's 
army.  He  followed  it  a  day  later.  He  wrote  long  notes  to  his 


WESTWAYS  335 

wife  almost  daily  and  then  in  September  after  the  battle  of 
Antietam  more  freely  to  Leila :  — 

"  DEAR  LEILA  :  You  will  be  surprised  to  hear  from  me  as  at 
Washington  on  this  September  19th.  I  overtook  my  command 
at  noon,  in  Philadelphia,  where  the  regiment  was  being  well  fed 
in  the  big  building  known  as  the  Cooper  Shop.  I  was  pleased 
with  the  look  of  the  men,  who  have  been  long  drilled  in  camp. 
After  the  meal  I  went  outside  and  mounted  Dixy,  who  was  as 
rebellious  as  if  he  knew  he  was  on  the  side  to  which  his  name  did 
not  belong.  A  soldier  was  vainly  trying  to  mount  my  mare.  He 
lost  his  temper  and  struck  her.  I  saw  a  black  man  interfering, 
and  rode  forward  seeing  there  was  some  trouble.  By  George !  it 
was  Josiah.  I  shook  hands  with  him  and  said,  '  Where  did  you 
come  from  ?  He  said,  '  Saw  your  name,  sir,  in  the  paper  and 
just  quit  my  work.  I  'm  goin'  along  with  you  —  I  'm  your  serv 
ant.  I  've  been  thinkin'  this  long  while  I  'd  go  back  to  West- 
ways,  but  I  've  been  doin'  well  here,  and  I  just  kep'  a  puttin'  it 
off.  I  'm  goin'  with  you.'  I  said,  '  All  right,  get  on  that  horse.' 
He  patted  the  uneasy  mare  and  in  a  moment  was  in  the  saddle 
and  I  a  well  pleased  man.  Tell  your  aunt  I  am  well  cared  for. 

"We  were  hurried  forward,  and  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
my  men  behave  well  when  we  stormed  South  Mountain  —  a  very 
gallant  affair.  Joe  Grace  was  hurt,  but  not  badly,  and  was  left 
behind.  As  to  the  killed,  none  are  from  Westways.  At  An 
tietam  we  were  with  the  reserve,  which  I  thought  should  have 
been  used  and  was  not.  It  was  an  attack  on  an  interior  line 
as  seems  always  to  be  our  luck.  McClellan  will  follow  Lee,  of 
course.  My  regiment  is  to  be  with  the  Sixth  Corps,  but  I  was 
ordered  by  the  Secretary  of  War  to  report  to  him  in  Washing 
ton.  It  is  disgusting !  But  orders  are  orders.  The  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  will  have  my  place,  and  I  hope  to  get  back  soon.  Josiah 
was  caught  in  the  thick  of  the  fight  at  Fox  Gap.  He  was  scared 
a  sort  of  green.  He  will  get  over  it  —  I  know  the  signs.  It 


336  WESTWAYS 

was  pure  nervousness.  His  explanation  was  very  perfect,  '  I  just 
laid  down  flat  because  I  was  afraid  of  gittin'  this  servant  of 
yours  killed/  We  grinned  mutual  approval  of  the  excuse. 

"Yours  ever, 

"JAMES  PENHALLOW." 

"P.  S.  You  will  have  found  this  letter  very  unsatisfactory, 
but  the  fact  is  that  only  people  of  ample  leisure  make  good  cor 
respondents.  But  now  to  sum  up:  Yesterday  I  saw  Stanton, 
had  a  glimpse  of  Swallow,  saw  Mr.  Lincoln,  and  had  an  adven 
ture  so  out  of  the  common  that  it  was  like  one  of  the  stories  of 
adventure  in  which  Jack  used  to  delight.  Now  I  cannot  — 
should  not  tell  it  —  but  some  day  —  yes.  Send  this  P.  S.,  bit 
of  good  news,  on  its  way.  Read  it  first." 

"Well,  that  is  exasperating?  Surely  men  are  most  unsatis 
factory  letter  writers.  No  woman  with  an  interesting  subject 
could  be  so  uninteresting.  John  is  as  bad  or  worse." 

She  found  enclosed  a  postscript  slip  for  Mr.  Grace. 

"DEAR  SIR:  That  boy  of  yours  is  not  badly  hurt.  He  be 
haved  with  intelligent  courage  when  for  a  moment  a  part  of  our 
charging  line  hesitated.  I  was  proud  of  him;  I  have  made  him 
a  Corporal. 

"Yours  truly, 

"JAMES  PENHALLOW." 

The  order  to  report  to  the  former  counsel  of  his  firm,  Secre 
tary  Stanton,  brought  an  unhappy  Colonel  to  the  War  Depart 
ment.  He  sent  in  his  card,  and  was  asked  to  follow  an  orderly. 
As  he  was  about  to  enter  the  private  office  of  the  War  Minister, 
to  his  amazement  Swallow  came  out.  With  a  curt  good  morn 
ing,  Penhallow  went  by  him.  The  great  Secretary  rose  to  greet 
him,  saying,  "You  are  very  welcome,  Penhallow  —  never  more 
welcome." 

"  You  look  worn  out,  Stanton,"  said  the  Colonel. 


WESTWAYS  337 

"  No,  not  yet ;  but,  my  God !  Penhallow,  my  life  is  one  to  kill 
the  toughest.  What  with  army  mishaps,  inefficiency,  contractors 
backed  by  Congressmen  —  all  the  scum  that  war  brings  to  the 
top.  Do  you  know  why  I  sent  for  you?" 

"  No.  It  was  an  order  —  I  ask  no  questions.  I  am  at 
your  service." 

"  You  were  disappointed,  of  course." 

"  Yes,  I  was." 

"  Well,  there  were  two  reasons.  One  is  frankly  this.  Your 
firm  has  a  contract  for  field  artillery  —  and  now  you  are  in  the 
service." 

"  I  see !     It  is  not  now  my  firm.     I  gave  up  my  partnership." 

"  So  I  saw,  but  who  of  these  hungry  contractors  will  believe 
that  you  gave  up  —  a  fortune  —  to  enter  the  army !  The  facts 
are  either  not  well  known  or  have  been  misstated." 

"Very  likely.  I  gave  up  what  you  speak  of  as  a  fortune  as 
you  gave  up  a  great  income  at  the  bar,  and  for  the  same  reason  I 
withdrew  all  my  capital.  Even  the  rental  of  my  mills  will  go 
to  the  Sanitary  Commission.  I  could  not  leave  a  doubt  or  the 
least  cause  for  suspicion." 

"I  was  sure  of  you,  but  this  has  been  a  well-nursed  scandal, 
due  to  an  influential  lot  of  disappointed  contractors  who  would 
have  controlled  the  giving  of  that  contract  had  I  not  come  into 
office.  I  shall  kill  it  dead.  Trust  that  to  me." 

"  Thank  you,  Stanton,  I  could  have  stood  it." 

"  Yes,  but  you  do  not  know,  my  dear  Penhallow,  what  Wash 
ington  is  at  present.  Well,  let  it  go.  It  is  now  my  business. 
Do  you  know  this  Mr.  Swallow?" 

"  Know  him  ?  Yes  —  a  usurious  scamp  of  a  lawyer,  who  to 
our  relief  has  left  Westways.  Do  not  trust  him.  I  presume  that 
I  owe  this  talk  about  me  to  him." 

"Well,  yes,  to  him  and  his  associates." 

"What  does  he  want  now?" 

"What  he  will  not  get.     Let  him  go.     I  said  I  had  two 


338  WESTWAYS 

reasons  for  ordering  you  here.  One  I  have  stated.  I  want  some 
one  I  can  entirely  trust,  not  merely  for  honesty  and  loyalty,  but 
also  because  of  business  competence.  All  manner  of  work  for 
the  Government  is  going  on  here  and  elsewhere.  I  want  some 
one  to  report  on  it  from  time  to  time.  It  will  keep  you  here  this 
winter.  You  do  not  like  it  ?  " 

"No,  but  it  was  an  order." 

"  Yes,  I  am  sorry  to  take  you  for  a  time  out  of  active  service, 
but  trust  me  this  war  will  last  long.  This  winter  I  want  you 
for  a  variety  of  inspection  work  here  or  elsewhere.  It  will  be 
mere  business,  dull,  unexciting,  with  unending  watchfulness, 
and  advisory  technical  help  and  advice.  I  want  not  only  personal 
character  —  I  can  get  that,  but  not  easily  the  combination  of 
technical  training  and  business  capacity."  He  unrolled  a  bundle 
of  papers.  "  There  for  example,  Colonel,  are  plans  for  a  new 
form  of  ambulance  and  pontoon  wagons  ready  for  approval.  I 
want  a  report  on  both."  He  went  on  to  speak  of  the  ambulances 
with  amazing  knowledge  of  the  details  of  their  build.  Penhal- 
low  watched  this  earnest,  overtasked  man,  and  began  to  compre 
hend  the  vastness  of  his  daily  toil,  the  weight  of  his  mighty  load 
of  care.  As  he  talked,  cards  were  brought  in,  messages  sent  or 
received,  telegrams  —  the  talk  was  dropped  —  resumed  —  and 
the  Colonel  simply  listened.  At  last  the  Secretary  said,  "  That 
will  do  for  to-day.  You  have  room  No.  27,  and  such  clerks  and 
orderlies  as  you  may  need.  You  will  find  on  your  table  these 
specifications  —  and  more  —  others.  And  now,  how  is  your 
beautiful  Grey  Pine  and  its  mistress  and  Leila?  You  will  as 
sure  them  of  my  undiminished  affection.  And  John  —  where  is 
he?" 

"  With  General  Grant,  but  where  just  now  I  cannot  say." 

As  he  spoke,  the  door  opened  and  an  officer  announced  — 
"The  President."  The  ungainly  length  of  Lincoln  appeared. 
A  quiet  smile  lingered  on  the  large-featured  face,  with  some 
humorous  appreciation  of  the  War  Secretary's  evident  annoy- 


WESTWAYS  339 

ance  at  this  abrupt  visit.  Mr.  Stanton's  greeting  as  he  rose  was 
as  the  Colonel  thought  coldly  civil. 

"  My  friend,  Colonel  Penhallow,  sir." 

"  Glad  to  see  you,"  said  Lincoln,  and  then  with  a  certain  sim 
plicity  explained,  "  You  see,  Colonel,  sometimes  I  run  away  out 
of  the  back  of  the  White  House  —  just  to  get  free  of  the  guards. 
Don't  look  so  bothered,  Stanton.  I  ?m  too  fine  a  failure  for 
any  one  to  want  to  kill  me.  Any  news  ?  " 

"  None,"  said  the  secretary,  as  he  stood  not  too  well  pleased ; 
"  Colonel  Penhallow  is  to  be  in  my  office  on  inspection  duty/' 

"  Indeed !  Glad  to  see  you."  The  huge  hand  closed  on  Pen- 
hallow's  with  innocent  use  of  its  power.  "Name  sounds  fa 
miliar.  Yes  —  there  was  a  cadet  of  your  name  last  year. 
Your  son,  I  suppose?" 

"No,  my  nephew  —  in  the  engineers  with  General  Grant." 

"  Tell  him  I  asked  for  him  —  handsome  fellow.  Anything  I 
can  do  for  him  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  sir." 

"  Anything  I  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  sir." 

"Don't  let  Stanton  kill  you.  He  ought  to  have  a  brevet, 
Stanton.  He  is  the  only  man  in  Washington  don't  want  any 
thing."  Even  the  weary  face  of  the  Secretary  smiled  under  his 
heavy  beard.  "Just  stepped  in  to  divide  growls  with  you. 
Come  with  me,  Colonel,  or  Stanton  will  have  a  brigade  of  offi 
cers  to  escort  me.  Wait  for  me  at  the  outer  door  —  I  '11  join 
you." 

Penhallow  pleased  and  amused,  went  out  taking  with  him 
the  sense  of  puzzle  felt  by  so  many  over  this  unusual  personage. 
At  the  main  entrance  the  Colonel  came  on  Swallow. 

"  A  word  with  you,"  he  said  very  quietly.  "  You  have  been 
lying  about  me  to  the  Secretary  and  elsewhere.  Be  careful.  I 
am  sometimes  short  of  temper.  You  have  hurt  yourself,  not  me, 
and  you  will  get  no  contracts  here." 


340  WESTWAYS 

"  Well,  we  will  see  about  that/'  said  Swallow,  and  was  about 
to  say  more  when  the  President  appeared. 

"  Come,  Colonel/'  he  said.  Swallow  fell  back  and  Penhallow 
walked  away  as  men  touched  their  hats.  For  a  block  or  more 
Lincoln  did  not  speak,  and  respecting  his  silence  the  soldier  was 
as  silent.  Then,  with  his  amazing  frankness,  Lincoln  spoke. 

"Does  the  Emancipation  Proclamation  please  you?" 

"  As  a  war  measure,  yes." 

"  And  not  otherwise  ?  " 

"  It  is  none  of  my  business  to  criticize  my  Commander-in- 
Chief." 

"Well,  I  won't  make  it  an  order,  but  I  wish  McClellan  was 
of  your  way  of  thinking."  Again  there  was  silence.  Penhal 
low  was  astonished  at  this  outspoken  statement,  being  aware  as 
few  men  were  of  the  fact  that  the  General  in  question  had  been 
disinclined  to  announce  the  emancipation  message  to  the  army 
until  he  found  that  his  corps  commanders  were  not  cordially 
with  him  in  opinion. 

As  they  stopped  at  the  gate  of  the  railing  around  the  White 
House,  Lincoln  said,  "  When  you  don't  want  anything,  come  and 
see  me  —  or  if  you  do."  Then,  becoming  grave,  he  asked, 
"  What  effect  will  my  proclamation  of  emancipation  have  in  the 
South?  It  takes  effect  in  January,  you  know."  It  was  like 
Lincoln.  He  asked  this  question  of  all  manner  of  people.  "  I 
want  to  know,"  he  added,  as  Penhallow  hesitated. 

"I  am  not  in  a  position,  sir,  to  have  any  opinion  about  how 
the  Eebels  will  be  affected  by  it." 

"  Oh,  Confederates !  Colonel  —  not  Eebels.  Calling  names 
only  hurts,  and  don't  ever  help.  Better  to  be  amiable  about 
labels." 

"It  was  a  slip  of  the  tongue,  Mr.  President.  I  usually  say 
Confederates." 

"  Quite  right  —  tongue  very  slippery  organ.  Reckon  my 
small  truant  holiday 's  over.  Everybody  generally  is  letting  'me 


WESTWAYS  341 

know  what  effect  that  emancipation-thunder  will  have."  A 
strangely  tender  smile  grew  upon  the  large  features.  "You 
see,  Colonel,  you  and  I  are  the  only  ignorant  people  in  Wash 
ington.  Good-bye." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

SALUTING  the  Commander-in-Chief,  Penhallow  turned 
away  in  absent  mood  thinking  of  the  burdened  man  who 
had  passed  from  sight  into  the  White  House.  As  he  crossed 
Lafayette  Square,  he  suddenly  remembered  that  the  Presi 
dent's  request  for  his  company  had  caused  him  to  forget  to 
look  over  the  papers  in  his  office  of  which  the  Secretary  had 
spoken.  It  was  desirable  to  revisit  the  War  Department.  As 
he  walked  around  the  statue  of  Andrew  Jackson,  he  came 
suddenly  face  to  face  with  his  wife's  brother,  Henry  Grey. 
For  a  moment  he  was  in  doubt.  The  man  was  in  United 
States  uniform,  with  an  army  cloak  over  his  shoulders  — 
but  it  was  Grey.  Something  like  consternation  possessed 
the  Federal  officer.  The  Confederate  faced  him  smiling,  as 
Penhallow  said,  "  My  God !  Grey,  you  here !  a  spy  in  our  uni 
form!  Many  people  know  you  —  detection  and  arrest  would 
mean  — 

"Don't  talk  so  loud,  James.  You  are  excited,  and  there  is 
really  no  reason." 

Penhallow  said  quietly,  "  I  have  good  reason  to  be  excited. 
You  will  walk  on  in  front  of  me  to  Willard's  Hotel.  I  will 
go  with  you  to  my  rooms,  where  we  can  talk  freely.  Now, 
sir." 

Grey  stood  still.  "  And  suppose  I  decline  to  obey  my  rather 
positive  brother-in-law." 

"You  are  not  a  fool.  If  you  were  to  try  to  escape  me,  and 
you  are  thinking  of  it,  I  would  set  on  you  at  once  any  half 
dozen  of  the  soldiers  within  call." 

"  In  that  case  my  revolver  would  settle  my  earthly  accounts 
• — and  pleasantly  relieve  you." 

342 


WESTWAYS  343 

"  Don't  talk.  Go  on  ahead  of  me."  He  would  not  walk 
beside  him. 

"  As  you  please."  No  more  words  passed.  They  moved  up 
Pennsylvania  Avenue,  now  at  mid-day  crowded  with  officers, 
soldiers,  and  clerks  going  to  lunch.  Grey  was  courteously 
saluting  the  officers  he  passed.  This  particularly  enraged  the 
man  who  was  following  him  and  was  hopelessly  trying  to 
see  how  with  regard  to  his  own  honour  he  could  save  this 
easy-going  and  well-loved  brother  of  Ann  Penhallow.  If  the 
Confederate  had  made  his  escape,  he  would  have  been  relieved, 
but  he  gave  him  no  least  chance,  nor  was  Grey  at  all  meaning 
to  take  any  risks.  He  knew  or  believed  that  his  captor  could 
not  give  him  up  to  justice.  He  had  never  much  liked  the  steady, 
self-controlled  business  man,  the  master  of  Grey  Pine.  Himself 
a  light-hearted,  thoughtless  character,  he  quite  failed  to  com 
prehend  the  agony  of  indecision  which  was  harassing  the  federal 
officer.  In  fact,  then  and  later  in  their  talk,  he  found  something 
amusing  in  the  personal  embarrassment  Penhallow's  recognition 
had  brought  upon  him. 

As  they  approached  the  hotel,  the  Confederate  had  become 
certain  that  he  was  in  no  kind  of  danger.  The  trapper  less 
at  ease  than  the  trapped  was  after  his  habit  becoming  cool, 
competent  and  intensely  watchful.  The  one  man  was  more 
and  more  his  careless,  rather  egotistic  self;  the  other  was  of 
a  sudden  the  rare  self  of  an  hour  of  peril  —  in  a  word,  danger 
ous.  As  they  reached  the  second  floor,  Penhallow  said,  "  This 
way."  Josiah  in  the  dimly  lighted  corridor  was  putting  the 
last  shine  on  a  pair  of  riding-boots.  As  he  rose,  his  master 
said,  "  Stay  here  —  I  am  not  at  home  —  to  anybody  —  to 
any  one." 

He  led  the  way  into  his  sitting-room;  Grey  following  said, 
"Excuse  me,"  as  he  locked  the  door. 

"You  are  quite  safe,"  remarked  his  host,  rather  annoyed. 

"  Oh,  that  I  take  for  granted." 


344  WESTWAYS 

James  Penhallow  said,  "  Sit  down.     There  are  cigars/' 

"  A  match  please.     Cigars  are  rare  luxuries  with  us." 

As  the  Confederate  waited  for  the  sulphur  of  the  match  to 
pass  away,  Penhallow  took  note  of  the  slight,  delicate  figure,  the 
blue  eyes  like  Ann's,  the  well-bred  face.  Filling  his  own  pipe 
he  sat  down  with  his  back  to  the  window,  facing  his  brother- 
in-law. 

"You  are  very  comfortable  here,  James.  How  is  my  sister, 
and  your  beauty,  Leila  ?  " 

"Well  — very  well.  But  let  us  talk  a  little.  You  are  a 
spy  in  our  uniform." 

"  That  is  obvious  enough.  I  am  one  of  many  in  your  De 
partments  and  outside  of  them.  What  do  you  propose?  I  am 
sorry  we  met." 

"  My  duty  is  to  turn  you  over  to  the  Provost-marshal." 

"  Of  course,  but  alas !  my  dear  James,  there  is  my  sister  — 
you  won't  do  it  —  no  one  would  under  the  circumstances. 
What  the  deuce  made  you  speak  to  me  ?  You  put  us  both  in  an 
awkward  position.  You  became  responsible  for  a  duty  you 
can't  fulfil.  I  am  really  most  sorry  for  you.  It  was  a  bit  of 
bad  luck." 

Penhallow  rose  to  get  a  match  and  moved  about  the  room  un 
easily  as  Henry  Grey  went  on  talking  lightly  of  the  situation 
which  involved  for  him  possibilities  of  death  as  a  spy,  and  for 
Penhallow  a  dilemma  in  which  Grey  saw  his  own  safety. 

"Bather  disagreeable  all  round,  James.  But  I  trust  you 
won't  let  it  worry  you.  I  always  think  a  man  must  be  worried 
when  he  lets  his  pipe  go  out.  There  is  no  need  to  worry,  and 
after  all  " —  he  added  smiling  — "  you  created  a  situation  which 
might  have  been  avoided.  No  one  would  have  known  —  in  a 
day  or  two  we  would  have  been  talking  to  General  Lee.  An  ex 
cellent  cigar,  James." 

While  his  brother-in-law  chatted  lightly,  apparently  uncon 
cerned,  the  Union  officer  was  considering  this  way  or  that  out 


WESTWAYS  345 

of  the  toils  woven  of  duty,  affection  and  honour;  but  as  he 
kept  on  seeking  a  mode  of  escape,  he  was  also  hearing  and 
watching  the  man  before  him  with  attention  which  missed  no 
word.  He  was  barely  conscious  that  the  younger  man  appeared 
enough  at  ease  to  dare  to  use  language  which  the  Federal  of 
ficer  felt  to  be  meant  to  annoy.  A  single  word  used  by  Grey 
stopped  the  Colonel's  mental  mechanism  as  if  a  forceful  brake 
had  been  applied.  The  man  before  him  had  said  carelessly, 
"  We  —  we  would  have  been  talking  to  General  Lee."  The 
word  "  we  "  repeated  itself  in  his  mind  like  an  echo.  He  too 
lightly  despised  Grey's  capacity  as  a  spy,  but  he  had  said  "  we." 
There  were,  it  seemed,  others;  how  many? — what  had  they 
done?  This  terribly  simplified  the  game.  To  arrest  Grey 
would  or  might  be  useless.  Who  were  his  companions  and 
where  were  they?  Once  missing  this  confident  Confederate 
they  might  escape.  To  question  Grey  would  be  in  vain.  To 
give  him  any  hint  that  he  had  been  imprudent  would  be  to 
lose  an  advantage.  He  was  so  intent  on  the  question  of  how 
to  carry  out  a  decisive  purpose  that  he  missed  for  the  moment 
Grey's  easy-minded  talk,  and  then  was  suddenly  aware  that 
Grey  was  really  amusing  himself  with  a  cat-and-mouse  game. 
But  now  he  too  was  at  ease  and  became  quietly  civil  as  he  filled 
another  pipe,  and  with  an  air  of  despair  which  altogether  de 
ceived  Grey  said,  "  I  see  that  I  can  do  nothing,  Henry.  There 
is  no  reason  to  protract  an  unpleasant  matter." 

"  I  supposed  you  would  reach  this  very  obvious  conclusion." 
Then  unable  to  resist  a  chance  to  annoy  a  man  who  had  given 
him  a  needless  half  hour  not  free  from  unpleasant  possibilities, 
Grey  rose  and  remarked,  smiling,  "  I  hope  when  we  occupy  this 
town  to  meet  you  under  more  agreeable  circumstances." 

"  Sir,"  said  Penhallow,  "  the  painful  situation  in  which  I 
am  placed  does  not  give  you  the  freedom  to  insult  me." 

The  Confederate  was  quite  unaware  that  the  Colonel  was  be 
coming  more  and  more  a  man  to  fear.  "  I  beg  pardon,  James," 


346  WESTWAYS 

he  said,  "  I  was  only  anticipating  history/'  As  he  &poke,  he 
stood  securing  a  neglected  button  of  his  neat  uniform.  This 
act  strangely  exasperated  the  Colonel.  "  I  will  see  you  out,"  he 
said.  "The  buttons  of  the  Massachusetts  Third  might  at 
tract  attention." 

"  Oh,  my  cloak  covers  it,"  and  he  threw  it  carelessly  over  his 
shoulders. 

Penhallow  said,  "  I  have  confessed  defeat  —  you  may  thank 
Ann  Penhallow." 

"  Yes  —  an  unfortunate  situation,  James.  May  I  have  an 
other  cigar?  Thanks." 

"  Sorry  I  have  no  whisky,  Grey." 

"  And  I  -      How  it  pours !     What  a  downfall !  " 

The  Colonel  was  becoming  more  and  more  outwardly  polite. 

"  Good-bye,  Henry." 

"  Au  revoir"  said  the  younger  man. 

Penhallow  went  with  his  brother-in-law  down  the  long  cor 
ridor,  neither  man  speaking  again.  As  they  passed  Josiah, 
Penhallow  said,  "  I  shall  want  my  horse  at  five,  and  shall  want 
you  with  me."  At  the  head  of  the  stairs  he  dismissed  his  visitor 
without  a  further  word.  Then  he  turned  back  quickly  to 
Josiah  and  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  Follow  that  man  —  don't 
lose  him.  Take  your  time.  It  is  important  —  a  matter  of  life 
and  death  to  me  —  to  know  where  he  lives.  Quick  now  —  I 
trust  you." 

"Yes,  sir."    He  was  gone. 

Grey  feeling  entirely  safe  walked  away  in  the  heavy  rain 
with  a  mind  at  ease  and  a  little  sorry  as  a  soldier  for  the  hap 
less  situation  with  which  Penhallow  had  had  to  struggle. 
When  we  have  known  men  only  in  the  every-day  business  of  life 
or  in  ordinary  social  relations,  we  may  quite  fail  to  credit  them 
with  qualities  which  are  never  called  into  activity  except  by 
unusual  circumstances.  Grey,  an  able  engineer,  regarded  Pen- 


WESTWAYS  347 

hallow  as  a  rather  slow  thinker,  a  good  man  of  business,  and 
now  as  a  commonplace,  well-mannered  officer.  He  smiled  as 
he  thought  how  his  sister  had  made  her  husband  in  this  present 
predicament  what  algebraists  call  a  "negligible  quantity." 
He  would  have  been  less  easy  had  he  known  that  the  man  he 
left  felt  keenly  a  sense  of  imperilled  honour  and  of  insult 
which  his  relation  to  Grey  forbade  him  to  avenge.  He  had  be 
come  a  man  alert,  observant,  and  quick  to  see  his  way  and  to  act. 

Josiah,  with  all  his  hunting  instincts  aroused,  loitered  idly 
after  Grey  in  the  rain,  one  of  the  scores  of  lazy,  unnoticeable  ne 
groes.  He  was  gone  all  the  afternoon,  and  at  eight  o'clock 
found  Penhallow  in  his  room.  "  Did  you  find  where  he  lives  ?  " 
asked  the  Colonel. 

"That  man,  he  lives  at  229  Sixteenth  Street.  Two  more 
live  there.  They  was  in  and  out  all  day  —  and  he  went  to 
shops  and  carried  things  away — " 

"What  kind  of  shops?" 

"  Where  they  sell  paper  and  pens  —  and  'pothecaries." 

"  Sit  down  —  you  look  tired."  It  was  plain  that  they 
were  soon  about  to  move  and  were  buying  what  was  needed  in 
the  South  —  quinine,  of  course.  But  what  had  been  their  er 
rand  ?  He  said,  "  Get  some  supper  and  come  back  soon." 

Then  he  sat  down  to  think.  An  engineer  of  competence  lately 
back  from  Europe !  His  errand  —  their  errand  —  must  be  of 
moment.  He  took  a  small  revolver  out  of  a  drawer,  put  in 
shells,  placed  it  in  his  breast  pocket,  and  secured  a  box  of 
matches.  About  nine,  in  a  summer  thunder-shower  of  wind 
and  rain,  he  followed  Josiah  and  walked  to  No.  229  Sixteenth 
Street.  As  he  stood  he  asked, 

"  How  did  those  men  get  in,  Josiah  ?  " 

"  All  had  keys.     Want  to  get  in,  Colonel .?  " 

"  Yes,  I  want  to  get  in.  Are  there  any  others  in  the  house 
—  servants  —  any  one  ?  " 


348  WESTWAYS 

"  No,  sir"  Josiah  said.  "  I  went  round  to  an  alley  at  the 
back  of  the  house.  There  are  lights  on  the  second  storey.  You 
can  get  in  easy  at  the  back,  sir." 

Seeing  a  policeman  on  the  opposite  pavement,  Penhallow  at 
once  changed  his  plan  of  entrance,  and  crossing  the  street 
said  to  the  policeman,  "Is  this  your  beat?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Very  good !  You  see  I  am  in  uniform.  Here  is  my  card. 
I  am  on  duty  at  the  War  Department.  Here  is  my  general 
pass  from  the  Provost-marshal  General.  Come  to  the  gas  lamp 
and  read  it.  Here  are  ten  dollars.  I  have  to  get  into  No. 
229  on  Government  business.  If  I  do  not  come  out  in  thirty 
minutes,  give  the  alarm,  call  others  and  go  in.  Who  lives 
there?" 

"  It  is  a  gambling  house  —  or  was  —  not  now." 

"Very  good.  This  is  my  servant,  Josiah.  If  I  get  out 
safely,  come  to  Willard's  to-morrow  at  nine  —  use  my  card 
—  ask  for  me  —  and  you  will  not  be  sorry  to  have  helped  me." 

"  You  want  to  get  in !  " 

"Yes." 

"  No  use  to  ring,  sir,"  said  Josiah.  "  There  ain't  any  serv 
ants  and  the  gentlemen,  they  ate  outside.  Lord,  how  it  rains !  " 

The  policeman  hesitated.  Another  ten  dollar  note  changed 
owners.  "Well,  it  isn't  police  duty  —  and  you're  not  a  bur- 
glar-" 

The  Colonel  laughed.  "  If  I  were,  I  'd  have  been  in  that 
house  without  your  aid." 

"Well,  yes,  sir.  Burglars  don't  usually  take  the  police  into 
their  confidence.  There  are  no  lights  except  in  the  second 
storey.  If  your  man 's  not  afraid  and  it 's  an  nonest  Govern 
ment  job,  let  him  go  through  that  side  alley,  get  over  the 
fence  —  I  '11  help  him  —  and  either  through  a  window  or  by 
the  cellar  he  can  get  in  and  open  the  front  door  for  you." 

Josiah  laughed  low  laughter  as  he  crossed  the  street  with 


WESTWAYS  349 

the  officer  and  was  lost  to  view.  The  Colonel  waited  at  the 
door.  In  a  few  minutes  the  man  returning  said,  "Want  me 
with  you?  He  got  in  easily." 

"  No,  but  take  the  time  when.  I  enter  and  keep  near."  They 
waited. 

"Nine-thirty   now,   sir/' 

"Give  me  the  full  time/7 

Penhallow  went  up  the  steps  and  knocked  at  the  door.  It 
was  opened  and  he  went  in.  "  Shut  the  door  quietly,  Josiah  — 
open  if  the  policeman  knocks.  Now,  be  quiet,  and  if  you  hear  a 
shot,  or  a  big  row  call  the  police/' 

The  house  below-stairs  was  in  darkness.  He  took  off  his 
shoes  and  went  into  a  room  on  the  first  floor.  Striking  a 
match,  he  saw  only  ordinary  furniture.  The  room  back  of  it 
revealed  to  his  failing  match  a  roulette  table.  He  went  out 
into  the  hall  and  up  the  stairs  with  the  utmost  caution  to 
avoid  noise.  On  the  second  floor  the  door  of  the  front  room 
was  ajar.  They  must  be  careless  and  confident,  he  reflected 
as  he  entered.  A  lighted  candle  on  a  pine  table  dimly  illumi 
nated  a  room  in  some  confusion.  On  the  floor  were  two  small 
bags  half  full  of  clothes  which  he  swiftly  searched,  without  re 
vealing  anything  of  moment.  A  third,  smaller  bag  lay  open 
on  the  table.  It  contained  a  number*  of  small  rolls  of  very 
thin  paper,  and  on  the  table  there  were  spread  out  two  others. 
As  he  looked,  he  knew  they  were  admirably  drawn  sketches  of 
the  forts  and  the  lines  of  connecting  works  which  defended 
the  city.  Making  sure  no  more  papers  were  to  be  found,  he 
thrust  all  of  them  within  his  waistcoat,  buttoned  it  securely, 
felt  for  his  revolver,  and  listened. 

In  the  closed  back  room  there  was  much  mirth  and  the  clink 
of  glasses.  He  drew  near  the  door  and  felt  certain  that  Grey 
was  relating  with  comic  additions  his  interview  of  the  morning. 
Without  hesitation  he  threw  open  the  door  as  three  men  sprang 
to  their  feet  and  Grey  covered  him  with  a  revolver.  He  said 


350  WESTWAYS 

quietly,  "  Sorry  to  disturb  you,  gentlemen.  Put  down  that 
toy,  Grey." 

"  No,  by  Heaven !  —  not  till  — " 

"My  dear  Grey,  between  me  and  that  pistol  stands  a  woman 
—  as  she  stood  for  your  safety  this  morning.  Men  who  talk, 
don't  shoot.  You  are  all  three  in  deadly  peril  —  you  had 
better  hear  me.  I  could  have  covered  you  all  with  my  revolver. 
Put  down  that  thing !  " 

"  Put  it  down,"  said  the  older  of  the  three.  Grey  laid  the 
weapon  on  the  table. 

"  This  is  not  war,"  said  Penhallow,  "  and  you  are  three  to 
one.  Sit  down."  He  set  the  example.  "  It  is  clear  that  you 
are  all  Confederate  officers  and  spies.  Let  us  talk  a  little.  I 
came  on  Mr.  Grey  to-day  by  accident.  It  was  my  duty  to  have 
him  arrested;  but  he  is  my  wife's  brother.  If  a  pistol  is 
heard  or  I  am  not  out  of  this,  safe,  in  a  few  minutes,  the  police 
now  on  guard  will  enter  —  and  you  are  doomed  men.  I  am 
presumably  on  Government  business.  Now,  gentlemen,  will 
you  leave  at  once  or  in  an  hour  or  less  ?  " 

"  I  for  one  accept,"  said  the  man  who  had  been  silent. 

"And  I,"  said  the  elder  of  the  party. 

"  On  your  honour  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Grey  laughed  lightly,  "  Oh,  of  course.  Our  work  is  done. 
Speed  the  parting  guest !  " 

"  I  wish,"  said  the  Colonel,  rising,  "  to  leave  no  misapprehen 
sion  on  your  minds  —  or  on  that  of  Mr.  Grey.  Those  admir 
able  sketches  left  carelessly  on  the  table  are  in  my  pocket. 
Were  they  not,  you  would  all  three  be  lost  men.  Did  you 
think,  Grey,  that  to  save  your  life  or  my  own  I  would  permit  you 
to  escape  with  your  work  ?  Had  I  not  these  papers,  your  chance 
of  death  would  not  weigh  with  me  a  moment." 

Grey  started  up.  "Don't  be  foolish,  Grey,"  said  the  older 
man.  "  We  have  played  and  lost.  There  has  been  much  care- 


WESTWAYS  351 

lessness  —  and  we  have  suffered  for  it.  I  accept  defeat,  Col 
onel." 

Penhallow  looked  at  the  watch  in  his  hand.  "  You  have  ten 
minutes  grace  —  no,  rather  less.  May  I  ask  of  you  one  thing? 
You  are  every  hour  in  danger,  but  I  too  am  aware  that  if  this 
interview  be  talked  about  in  Eichmond  or  you  are  caught,  my 
name  may  be  so  used  as  to  make  trouble  for  me,  for  how  could 
I  explain  that  to  save  my  wife's  brother  I  connived  at  the 
escape  of  Confederate  officers  acting  as  spies?  I  ask  no  pledge, 
gentlemen.  I  merely  leave  my  honour  as  a  soldier  in  your 
hands.  Good-night,  and  don't  delay." 

Grey  was  silent.  The  older  man  said,  "  I  permit  myself  to 
hope  we  may  meet  some  time  under  more  pleasant  circum 
stances  —  for  me,  I  mean," —  he  added,  laughing.  "  Good 
night." 

Penhallow  withdrew  quickly  and  found  Josiah  on  guard. 
He  said,  "It  is  all  right  —  but  for  sport  it  beats  possum- 
hunting.  Open  the  door."  The  rain  was  still  falling  in  tor 
rents.  "  All  right,"  he  said  to  the  policeman,  "  come  and  see 
me  to-morrow  early." 

"  What  was  the  matter,  sir  ?     I  Ve  got  to  make  my  report." 

Then  Penhallow  saw  the  possibility  of  trouble  and  as  quickly 
that  to  bribe  further  might  only  make  mischief.  "  Do  not  come 
to  the  hotel,  but  at  eleven  sharp  call  on  me  at  the  War  Depart 
ment  on  Seventeenth  Street.  You  have  my  card.  By  that 
time  I  shall  have  talked  the  matter  over  with  the  Secretary. 
I  am  not  at  liberty  to  talk  of  it  now  —  and  you  had  better  not. 
It  is  a  Government  affair.  You  go  off  duty,  when  ?  " 

"  At  six.     You  said  eleven,  sir  ?  " 

"Yes,  good-night.     Go  home,  Josiah." 

The  Colonel  was  so  wet  that  the  added  contributions  of  water 
were  of  no  moment.  The  soldier  in  uniform  may  not  carry  an 
umbrella  —  for  reasons  unknown  to  me. 

Before  breakfast  next  morning  Josiah  brought  him  a  letter, 


352  WESTWAYS 

left  at  the  hotel  too  late  in  the  night  for  delivery.  He  read 
it  with  some  amusement  and  with  an  uncertain  amount  of 
satisfaction : 

"  MY  DEAR  J :  When  by  evil  luck  I  encountered  you,  I  was 
sure  of  three  things.  First,  that  I  was  safe;  then,  that  we  had 
secured  what  we  wanted;  and  last,  that  our  way  home  was 
assured.  If  in  my  satisfaction  I  played  the  bluff  game  rather 
lightly  —  well,  in  a  way  to  annoy  you  —  I  beg  now  to  apologize. 
That  I  should  so  stupidly  have  given  away  a  game  already  won 
is  sufficiently  humiliating,  and  the  dog  on  top  may  readily 
forgive.  You  spoilt  a  gallant  venture,  but,  by  Jove,  you  did  it 
well !  I  can't  imagine  how  you  found  me !  Accept  my  con 
gratulations. 

"  Yours  sincerely, 

"  G." 

"Confound  him!  What  I  suffered  don't  count.  He's  just 
the  man  he  always  was  —  brave,  of  course,  quixotically  chiv 
alrous,  a  light  weight.  Ann  used  to  say  he  was  a  grown-up 
boy  and  small  for  his  age.  Well,  he  has  had  his  spanking. 
Confound  him ! "  He  went  on  thinking  of  this  gay,  clever, 
inconsiderate,  not  unlovable  man.  If  by  mishap  he  were  cap 
tured  while  trying  to  escape,  what  then?  He  would  be  fool 
enough  to  make  the  venture  in  our  uniform.  There  would  be 
swift  justice;  and  only  the  final  appeal  to  Caasar.  He  was 
with  good  reason  ill  at  ease.  I  might  indeed  have  to  ask  the 
President  for  something." 

He  reconsidered  his  own  relation  to  the  adventure  as  he  sat 
at  breakfast,  and  saw  in  it  some  remainder  of  danger.  At  ten 
o'clock  he  was  with  the  Secretary. 

"  I  want/'  he  said,  "  to  talk  to  you  as  my  old  friend.  You 
are  my  official  superior  and  may  order  me  to  the  North  Pole, 
but  now  may  I  re-assume  the  other  position  for  a  minute  and 
make  a  confidential  statement  ?  " 


WESTWAYS  353 

"  Certainly,  Penhallow.     I  am  always  free  to  advise  you." 

"  I  want  to  say  something  and  to  be  asked  no  questions. 
Am  I  clear?" 

"  Certainly." 

"Thank  you.  I  had  an  extraordinary  adventure  yesterday. 
I  am  not  at  liberty  to  do  more  than  say  that  it  put  me  in 
possession  of  these  plans."  He  spread  on  the  table  well-drawn 
sketches  of  the  forts  around  Washington. 

Stanton's  grim,  bearded  face  grew  stern.  "You  have  my 
word,  Penhallow.  If  I  had  not  too  easily  given  it  we  would 
have  been  placed  in  a  disagreeable  position.  I  am  debarred 
from  asking  you  how  you  came  into  possession  of  these  papers. 
The  spies  who  made  them  would  have  been  in  my  power  early 
this  morning  —  and  not  even  the  President's  weakness  would 
have  saved  their  necks." 

Penhallow  was  silent,  but  was  anxiously  watching  the  angry 
Secretary,  who  swept  the  papers  aside  with  an  impatient  ges 
ture,  feeling  that  he  had  been  so  dealt  with  as  to  be  left  without 
even  the  relief  he  too  often  found  in  outbursts  of  violent  lan 
guage.  Penhallow's  quiet  attitude  reminded  him  that  he  could 
not  now  take  advantage  of  his  official  position  to  say  what  was 
on  his  mind. 

"  Colonel,"  he  said,  "  I  want  a  report  on  some  better  method 
of  getting  remounts  for  the  cavalry." 

"  I  will  consider  it,  sir." 

"  What  about  that  contract  for  ambulances  ?  " 
.  "  I  shall  have  my  report  ready  to-morrow." 

"  That  is  all."  It  is  to  be  feared  that  the  next  visitor  suf 
fered  what  Penhallow  escaped. 

With  no  other  orders  the  Colonel  left,  rewarded  the  punctual 
policeman  and  went  home  to  write  to  his  wife,  infinitely  dis 
gusted  with  the  life  before  him  and  behind  him,  and  desiring 
no  more  adventures. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  winter  of  1862-63  went  by  with  Sherman's  defeat  at 
Vicksburg   and  Rosecrans's   inconclusive   battle   of   Stone 
River.     The   unpopular   Conscription   Act  in   February,   1863, 
and  last  of  all  the  discreditable  defeat  of  Hooker  in  May  at 
Chancellorsville,  disheartened  the  most  hopeful. 

Meanwhile,  Penhallow  wrote  to  his  wife  with  no  word  of  the 
war,  and  poured  out  his  annoyance  to  Leila  with  less  restraint. 

"  DEAR  LEILA  :  I  get  brief  notes  from  John,  who  is  with  the 
one  General  (Grant)  who  has  any  luck.  The  list  of  discredited 
commanders  good  and  bad  increases.  I  am  weary  beyond  meas 
ure  of  the  kind  of  life  I  lead.  I  learn  to-day,  May  18th,  of  the 
progress  of  the  investment  of  Vicksburg,  and  of  John  as  busy 
at  last  with  his  proper  work  of  bridges,  corduroy  roads  and  the 
siege  approaches. 

"  The  drift  homeward  of  our  crippled  men,  you  tell  of,  is 
indeed  sad.  I  am  glad  that  Grace's  boy  is  well;  and  so  Rivers 
has  gone  to  the  army  again.  Pole's  lad,  with  the  lost  arm,  must 
'have  some  work  at  the  mills.  Say  I  ask  it.  Good-bye. 

"Yours,  JAMES  PENHALLOW/' 

On  the  16th  of  June  the  Secretary  said  to  Penhallow,  "You 
know  that  Lee  has  crossed  the  Potomac.  General  Hunt  has 
asked  to  have  you  put  in  charge  of  the  reserve  artillery  of  the 
Potomac  army.  I  shall  relieve  you  here  and  give  the  order, 
but  I  want  you  for  a  week  longer  to  clear  up  matters." 

Penhallow  worked  hard  up  to  the  time  set  by  Stanton,  and 
meanwhile  made  his  arrangements  to  leave  for  the  field.  "  Now 
that  you  are  going  away,"  said  Stanton,  "  I  wish  to  express  my 

354 


WESTWAYS  355 

I 

warm  thanks  for  admirable  service.  I  may  say  to  you  that 
Hooker  has  been  removed  and  Meade  put  in  command/' 

"  That  is  good  news,  indeed,  sir.  Now  the  Potomac  army 
will  be  handled  by  a  soldier/' 

The  Secretary  had  risen  to  say  his  parting  words,  and  Pen- 
hallow  as  he  held  his  hand  saw  how  reluctant  he  was  to  let  him 
go.  They  had  long  been  friends,  and  now  the  Colonel  observing 
his  worn  face  felt  for  him  the  utmost  anxiety.  A  stern,  grave 
man,  passionately  devoted  to  his  country,  he  was  the  impatient 
slave  of  duty.  Sometimes  hasty,  unjust,  or  even  ungenerous, 
he  was  indifferent  to  the  enmities  he  too  needlessly  created,  and 
was  hated  by  many  and  not  loved  even  by  those  who  respected 
his  devotion  and  competence.  He  spared  neither  his  subordi 
nates  nor,  least  of  all,  Edwin  Stanton,  and  spendthrift  of  vital 
force  and  energy  went  his  way,  one  of  the  great  war  ministers 
like  Carnot  and  Pitt.  Now,  as  they  stood  about  to  part,  he 
showed  feeling  with  which  few  would  have  given  him  credit, 
and  for  which  Penhallow  was  unprepared. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "you  are  going.  I  shall  miss  your  help 
in  a  life  sometimes  lonely,  and  overcrowded  with  work.  You 
have  been  far  more  useful  here  than  you  could  have  been  in 
the  field.  Living  and  working  as  you  have  done,  you  have 
made  enemies.  The  more  enmities  an  honest  gentleman  col 
lects  the  richer  he  is.  You  are  glad  to  go  —  well,  don't  think 
this  town  a  mere  great  gambling  place.  It  is  a  focal  point  — 
all  that  is  bad  in  war  seems  to  be  represented  here  —  spies, 
cheating  contractors,  political  generals,  generals  as  meek  as  mis 
sionaries.  You  have  seen  the  worst  of  it  —  the  worst.  But 
my  dear  Penhallow,  there  is  one  comfort,  Richmond  is  just  as 
foul  with  thieving  contractors,  extravagance,  intrigue,  and 
spies  who  report  to  us  with  almost  the  regularity  of  the  post; 
and,  as  with  us,  there  is  also  honour,  honesty,  religion,  belief 
in  their  cause."  The  Secretary  had  spoken  at  unusual  length 
and  in  an  unusual  mood.  When  once,  before  the  war,  he  had 


356  WESTWAYS 

spent  a  few  happy  days  at  Grey  Pine,  Mrs.  Crocker  character 
ized  him  as  "  a  yes-and-no  kind  of  man."  Now  as  he  walked 
with  his  friend  to  the  door,  he  said,  "Does  Mrs.  Penhallow 
know  of  your  change  of  duty  ?  I  am  aware  of  her  feeling  about 
this  unhappy  strife/' 

"  No.  There  will  be  a  battle  —  time  enough  —  soon  enough 
to  write  afterwards,  if  there  should  be  any  earthly  afterwards." 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  said  the  Secretary.  "  Good-bye.  I 
envy  you  your  active  share  in  this  game." 

Penhallow,  as  for  the  last  time  he  went  down  the  outer  steps, 
looked  back  at  the  old  brick  war-office  on  Seventeenth  Street. 
He  felt  the  satisfaction  of  disagreeable  duty  well  done.  Then 
he  recalled  with  some  sense  of  it  as  being  rather  ridiculous  his 
adventure  with  Henry  Grey.  In  a  far  distant  day  he  would  tell- 
Ann.  As  he  halted  at  the  foot  of  the  steps,  he  thought  of  his 
only  interview  with  Lincoln.  The  tall  figure  with  the  sombre 
face  left  in  his  memory  that  haunting  sense  of  the  unusual  of 
which  others  had  spoken  and  which  was  apt  to  disappear  upon 
more  familiar  acquaintance. 

On  the  morning  of  June  28  in  this  year  1863,  Leila  riding 
from  the  mills  paused  a  minute  to  take  note  of  the  hillside 
burial-ground,  dotted  here  and  there  with  pitiful  little  linen 
flags,  sole  memorials  of  son  or  father  —  the  victims  of  war. 
"  One  never  can  get  away  from  it,"  she  murmured,  and  rode 
on  into  Westways.  Sitting  in  the  saddle  she  waited  patiently 
at  the  door  of  the  post-office.  Mrs.  Crocker  was  distributing 
letters  and  newspapers.  An  old  Quaker  farmer  was  reading 
aloud  on  the  pavement  the  latest  news. 

"  There  ain't  no  list  of  killed  and  wounded,"  he  said.  For 
getful  of  the  creed  of  his  sect,  his  son  was  with  the  army.  He 
read,  "  The  Eebels  have  got  York  —  that 's  sure  —  and  Carlisle 
too.  They  are  near  Harrisburg." 

"  Oh,  but  we  have  burned  the  bridge  over  the  Sus.quehanna," 
said  some  one. 


WESTWAYS  367 

Another  and  younger  man  with  his  arm  in  a  sling  asked, 
"  Are  they  only  cavalry  ?  " 

"  No,  General  Ewell  is  in  command.  There  are  infan 
try." 

"Where  is  Lee?" 

"  I  don't  make  that  out."  They  went  away  one  by  one,  shar 
ing  the  uneasiness  felt  in  the  great  cities. 

Leila  called  out,  "Any  letters,  Mrs.  Crocker?  This  is  bad 
news." 

"Here's  one  for  you  —  it  came  in  a  letter  to  me.  I  was 
to  give  it  to  you  alone." 

Leila  tore  it  open  and  read  it.     "  Any  bad  news,  Leila  ?  " 

"Yes,  Uncle  James  is  with  the  army.  I  should  not  have 
told  you.  General  Meade  is  in  command.  Aunt  Ann  is  not 
to  know.  There  will  be  a  battle  —  after  that  he  will  write  — 
after  it.  Please  not  to  mention  where  Uncle  Jim  is.  When  is 
your  nephew  to  be  buried  —  at  the  mills?" 

"  At  eleven  to-morrow." 

"I  shall  be  there.  Aunt  Ann  will  send  flowers.  Poor  boy! 
he  has  lingered  long." 

"  And  he  did  so  want  to  go  back  to  the  army.  You  see,  he 
was  that  weak  he  cried.  He  was  in  the  colour-guard  and  asked 
to  have  the  flag  hung  on  the  wall.  Any  news  of  our  John? 
I  dreamed  about  him  last  night,  only  he  had  long  curly  locks 
—  like  he  used  to  have." 

"  No,  not  a  word." 

"Has  Mr.  Eivers  got  back?" 

"  No,  he  is  still  with  the  army.  You  know,  aunt  sends  him 
with  money  for  the  Sanitary." 

"Yes,  the  Sanitary  Commission  —  we  all  know." 

Leila  turned  homeward  seeing  the  curly  locks.  "  Oh,  to  be 
a  man  now ! "  she  murmured.  She  was  bearing  the  woman's 
burden. 

Mrs.  Crocker  called  after  her,  "You  forgot  the  papers." 


358  WESTWAYS 

"•Burn  them,"  said  Leila.  "I  have  heard  enough  —  and 
more  than  enough,  and  Aunt  Ann  never  reads  them." 

Penhallow  had  found  time  to  visit  his  home  twice  in  the  win 
ter,  but  found  there  little  to  please  him.  His  wife  was  ob 
viously  feeling  the  varied  strain  of  war,  and  Leila  showed 
plainly  that  she  too  was  suffering.  He  returned  to  his  work 
unhappy,  a  discontented  and  resolutely  dutiful  man,  hard 
driven  by  a  relentless  superior.  Now,  at  last,  the  relief  of 
action  had  come. 

No  one  who  has  not  lived  through  those  years  of  war  can 
imagine  the  variety  of  suffering  which  darkened  countless 
homes  throughout  the  land.  At  Grey  Pine,  Ann  Penhallow 
living  in  a  neighbourhood  which  was  hostile  to  her  own  polit 
ical  creed  was  deeply  distressed  by  the  fact  that  on  both  sides 
were  men  dear  to  her.  It  must  have  been  a  too  common  addi 
tion  to  the  misery  of  war  and  was  not  in  some  cases  with 
out  passionate  resentment.  There  were  Northern  men  in  the 
service  of  the  Confederacy,  and  of  the  Southern  graduates 
from  West  Point  nearly  fifty  per  cent,  had  remained  loyal  to 
the  flag,  as  they  elected  to  understand  loyalty.  The  student 
of  human  motives  may  well  be  puzzled,  for  example,  to  explain 
why  two  of  the  most  eminent  soldiers  of  the  war,  both  being 
men  of  the  highest  character  and  both  Virginians  should  have 
decided  to  take  different  sides. 

Some  such  reflection  occupied  Leila  Grey's  mind  as  she  rode 
away.  Many  of  the  officers  now  in  one  of  the  two  armies  had 
dined  or  stayed  a  few  pleasant  days  at  Grey  Pine.  For  one 
of  them,  Eobert  Lee,  Penhallow  had  a  warm  regard.  She  re 
membered  too  General  Scott,  a  Virginian,  and  her  aunt's 
Southern  friend  Drayton,  the  man  whom  a  poet  has  since 
described  when  with  Farragut  as  "  courtly,  gallant  and  wise." 
"  Ah,  me ! "  she  murmured,  "  duty  must  be  at  times  a  costly 
luxury. —  A  costly  necessity,"  she  concluded,  was  better  —  that 
left  no  privilege  of  choice.  She  smiled,  dismissing  the  mental 


WESTWAYS  359 

problem,  and  rode  on  full  of  anxiety  for  those  she  loved  and 
her  unfortunate  country.  Our  most  profound  emotions  are 
for  the  greater  souls  dumb  and  have  no  language  if  it  be  not 
that  of  prayer,  or  the  tearful  overflow  which  means  so  much 
and  is  so  mysteriously  helpful.  She  found  both  forms  of  ex 
pression  when  she  knelt  that  night. 

In  the  afternoon  the  refreshing  upland  coolness  of  evening 
followed  on  the  humid  heat  of  a  hot  June  day.  Towards  sunset 
Ann  Penhallow,  to  her  niece's  surprise,  drew  on  her  shawl  and 
said  she  would  like  to  walk  down  to  the  little  river.  Any  pro 
posal  to  break  the  routine  of  a  life  unwholesome  in  its  monotony 
was  agreeable  to  Leila.  No  talk  of  the  war  was  possible. 
When  Arm  Penhallow  now  more  and  more  rarely  and  with 
effort  went  on  her  too  frequently  needed  errands  of  relief  or 
consolation,  the  village  people  understood  her  silence  about  the 
war,  and  accepting  her  bounty  somewhat  resented  an  attitude 
of  mind  which  forbade  the  pleasant  old  familiarity  of  approach. 

The  life  was  unhealthy  for  Leila,  and  McGregor  watched  its 
influence  with  affection  and  some  professional  apprehension. 
Glad  of  any  change,  Leila  walked  with  her  aunt  through  the 
garden  among  the  roses  in  which  now  her  aunt  took  no  interest. 
They  heard  the  catbirds  carolling  in  the  hedges,  and  Ann 
thought  of  the  day  a  year  ago  when  she  listened  to  them  with 
James  Penhallow  at  her  side.  They  reached  in  silence  an  open 
space  above  the  broad  quiet  backwater.  Beyond  a  low  beach 
the  river  flowed  by,  wide  and  smooth,  a  swift  stream.  From  the 
western  side  the  sunset  light  fell  in  widening  shafts  of  scarlet 
across  the  water. 

"  Let  us  sit  here,"  said  the  elder  woman.  "  I  am  too  weak 
to  walk  further" — for  her  a  strange  confession.  As  they  sat 
down  on  the  mossy  carpet,  Leila  caught  the  passive  hand  of 
her  aunt. 

"  I  suppose  you  still  swim  here  every  morning,  Leila  ?  I  used 
to  like  it  —  I  have  now  no  heart  for  anything." 


360  WESTWAYS 

Leila  could  only  say,  "  Why  not,  aunt  ?  " 

"  How  can  you  ask  me !  I  think  —  I  dream  of  nothing  but 
this  unnatural  war." 

"  Is  that  wise,  aunt  ?  or  as  Dr.  McGregor  would  say,  '  whole 
some  '  ?  " 

"It  is  not;  but  I  cannot  help  it  —  it  darkens  my  whole 
life.  Billy  was  up  at  the  house  this  morning  talking  in  his 
wild  way.  I  did  not  even  try  to  understand,  but " —  and  she 
hesitated — "I  suppose  I  had  better  know." 

This  was  strange  to  Leila,  who  too  hesitated,  and  then  con 
cluding  to  be  frank  returned,  "  It  might  have  been  better, 
aunt,  if  you  had  known  all  along  what  was  going  on — " 

"What  would  have  been  the  use?"  said  her  aunt  in  a  tone 
of  languid  indifference.  "  It  can  end  in  but  one  way." 

A  sensation  of  anger  rose  dominant  in  the  mind  of  the  girl. 
It  was  hard  to  bear.  She  broke  out  into  words  of  passionate 
resentment  —  the  first  revolt.  "  You  think  only  of  your  dear 
South  —  of  your  friends  —  your  brother — " 

"  Leila ! " 

She  was  past  self-control  or  other  control.  "Well,  then,  be 
glad  Lee  is  in  Pennsylvania  —  General  Ewell  has  taken  York 
and  Hagerstown  —  there  will  be  a  great  battle.  May  God  help 
the  right  —  my  country !  " 

"  General  Lee,"  cried  Ann ;  "  Lee  in  Pennsylvania !  Then 
that  will  end  the  war.  I  am  glad  James  is  safe  in  Washing 
ton."  Leila  already  self-reproachful,  was  silent. 

To  tell  her  he  was  with  the  army  of  the  North  would  be 
cruel  and  was  what  James  Penhallow  had  forbidden. 

"  He  is  in  Washington  ?  "  asked  Ann  anxiously. 

"  When  last  I  heard,  he  was  in  Washington,  aunt,  and  as  you 
know,  John  is  before  Vicksburg  with  General  Grant." 

"  They  will  never  take  it  —  never." 

"Perhaps  not,  Aunt  Ann,"  said  Leila,  penitent.  The 
younger  woman  was  disinclined  to  talk  and  sat  quiet,  one  of 


WESTWAYS  361 

the  millions  who  were  wondering  what  the  next  few  days  would 
bring. 

The  light  to  westward  was  slowly  fading  as  she  remained 
with  hands  clasped  about  her  knees  and  put  aside  the  useless 
longing  to  know  what  none  could  know.  Her  anger  was  gone 
as  she  caught  with  a  side  glance  the  frail  look  of  Ann  Pen- 
hallow.  She  felt  too  the  soothing  benediction  of  the  day's  most 
sacred  hour. 

Of  a  sudden  Ann  Penhallow  bounded  to  her  feet.  A  thun 
derous  roar  broke  on  the  evening  stillness.  The  smooth  back 
water  shivered  and  the  cat-tails  and  reeds  swayed,  as  the  sound 
struck  echoes  from  the  hills  and  died  away.  Leila  caught 
and  stayed  the  swaying  figure.  "  It  is  only  the  first  of  the  great 
new  siege  guns  they  are  trying  on  the  lower  meadows.  Sit 
down,  dear,  for  a  moment.  Do  be  careful  —  you  are  getting" 
—  she  hesitated  — "  hysterical.  There  will  be  another  pres 
ently.  Do  sit  down,  dear  aunt.  Don't  be  nervous."  She  was 
alarmed  by  her  aunt's  silent  statuesque  position.  She  could 
have  applied  no  wiser  remedy  than  her  warning  advice.  No 
woman  likes  to  be  told  she  is  nervous  or  hysterical  and  now  it 
acted  with  the  certainty  of  a  charm. 

"  I  am  not  nervous  —  it  was  so  sudden.  I  was  startled." 
She  turned  away  with  a  quick  movement  of  annoyance,  releas 
ing  herself  from  Leila's  arm.  "Let's  go  home.  Oh,  my 
God ! "  she  cried,  as  once  again  the  cannon-roar  shook  the  leaves 
on  the  upward  slope  before  them.  "  It  is  the  voice  of  war. 
Can  I  never  get  away  from  it  —  never  —  never?" 

"  You  will  not  be  troubled  again  to-day,"  said  the  girl,  "  and 
the  smaller  guns  on  the  further  meadow  we  hardly  notice  at 
the  house." 

Ann's  steps  quickened.  She  had  been  scared  at  her  own 
realization  of  her  want  of  self-government  and  was  once  more 
in  command  of  her  emotions.  "  Do  not  talk  to  me,  Leila.  I 
was  quite  upset  —  I  am  all  right  now." 


362  WESTWAYS 

The  great  guns  were  sent  away  next  day  on  their  errands  of 
destruction.  Then  the  two  lonely  women  waited  as  the  whole 
country  waited  for  news  which  whatever  it  might  be  would 
carry  grief  to  countless  homes. 

On  the  second  day  of  July,  1863,  under  a  heavy  cloud  of  dust 
which  hung  high  in  air  over  the  approach  of  the  Baltimore 
Pike  to  Gettysburg,  the  long  column  of  the  reserve  artillery  of 
the  Potomac  army  rumbled  along  the  road,  and  more  and  more 
clearly  the  weary  men  heard  the  sound  of  cannon.  About  ten 
in  the  morning  the  advance  guard  was  checked  and  the  line 
came  to  a  halt.  James  Penhallow,  who  since  dawn  had  been 
urging  on  his  command,  rode  in  haste  along  the  side  of  the 
cumbered  road  to  where  a  hurrying  brigade  of  infantry  crossing 
his  way  explained  why  his  guns  were  thus  brought  to  a  stand 
still.  He  saw  that  he  must  wait  for  the  foot  soldiers  to  go  by. 
The  cannoneers  dismounted  from  the  horses  or  dropped  off  the 
caissons,  and  glad  of  a  rest  lit  their  pipes  and  lay  down  or 
wandered  about  in  search  of  water. 

The  Colonel,  pleased  to  be  on  time,  was  in  gay  good-humour 
as  he  talked  to  the  men  or  listened  to  the  musketry  fire  far 
to  the  left.  He  said  to  a  group  of  men,  "We  are  all  as  grey 
as  the  Eebs,  boys,  but  it  is  good  Pennsylvania  dust/'  As  he 
spoke  a  roar  of  laughter  was  heard  from  the  neighbourhood  of 
the  village  cemetery  on  his  right.  He  rode  near  it  and  saw 
the  men  gathered  before  an  old  notice  board.  He  read :  "  Any 
person  found  using  fire  arms  in  this  vicinity  will  be  prosecuted 
according  to  law."  Penhallow  shook  with  laughter.  "  Guess 
we  '11  have  to  be  right  careful,  Colonel,"  said  a  sergeant. 

"  You  will,  indeed." 

"  It 's  an  awful  warning,  boys,"  said  a  private.  "  Should  n't 
wonder  if  Bob  Lee  set  it  up  to  scare  us." 

"  I  'd  like  to  take  it  home."  They  chaffed  the  passing  infan 
try,  and  were  answered  in  kind.  Penhallow  impatient  saw  that 


WESTWAYS  363 

the  road  would  soon  be  clear.  As  he  issued  quick  orders  and  men 
mounted  in  haste,  a  young  aide  rode  up,  saluted,  and  said,  "  I 
have  orders,  Colonel,  from  General  Hunt  to  guide  you  to  where 
he  desires  your  guns  to  be  parked." 

"  One  moment,"  said  Penhallow ;  "  the  road  is  a  tangle  of 
wagons : "  and  to  a  captain,  "  Bide  on  and  side-track  those 
wagons;  be  quick  too."  Then  he  said  to  the  aide,  "We  have 
a  few  minutes  —  how  are  things  going?  I  heard  of  General 
Reynolds's  death,  and  little  more." 

"Yes,  we  were  outnumbered  yesterday  and  —  well  licked. 
Why  they  did  not  rush  us,  the  Lord  knows ! " 

"  Give  me  some  idea  of  our  position." 

"Well,  sir,  here  to  our  right  is  Cemetery  Hill,  strongly 
held;  to  your  left  the  line  turns  east  and  then  south  in  a  loop 
to  wooded  hills  —  one  Gulp's,  they  call  it.  That  is  our  right. 
There  is  a  row  on  there  as  you  can  hear.  Before  us  as  we 
stand  our  position  runs  south  along  a  low  ridge  and  ends  on 
two  pretty  high-wooded  hills  they  call  Round  Tops.  That's 
our  left.  From  our  front  the  ground  slopes  down  some  forty 
feet  or  so,  and  about  a  mile  away  the  Rebs  hold  the  town  sem 
inary  and  a  long  low  rise  facing  us." 

"Thank  you,  that  seems  pretty  clear.  There  is  firing  over 
beyond  the  cemetery?" 

"Yes,  the  skirmishers  get  cross  now  and  then.  The  road 
seems  clear,  sir." 

Orders  rang  out  and  the  guns  rattled  up  the  pike  like  some 
monstrous  articulated  insect,  all  encumbering  wagons  being 
swept  aside  to  make  way  for  the  privileged  guns. 

"You  are  to  park  here,  sir,  on  the  open  between  this  and 
the  Taneytown  road.  There  is  a  brook  —  a  creek." 

"  Thanks,  that  is  clear." 

The  ground  thus  chosen  lay  some  hundred  yards  behind  the 
low  crest  held  midway  of  our  line  by  the  Second  Corps,  whence 
the  ground  fell  away  in  a  gentle  slope.  The  space  back  of  our 


364  WESTWAYS 

line  was  in  what  to  a  layman's  eye  would  have  seemed  the  wild 
est  confusion  of  wagons,  ambulances,  ammunition  mules,  cattle, 
and  wandering  men.  It  was  slowly  assuming  some  order  as  the 
Provost  Guard,  dusty,  despotic  and  cross,  ranged  the  wagons, 
drove  back  stragglers,  and  left  wide  lanes  for  the  artillery  to 
move  at  need  to  the  front. 

The  colonel  spent  some  hours  in  getting  his  guns  placed  and 
in  seeing  that  no  least  detail  was  lacking.  With  orders  about 
instant  readiness,  with  a  word  of  praise  here,  of  sharp  criticism 
there,  he  turned  away  a  well-contented  man  and  walked  up 
the  slope  in  search  of  the  headquarters.  As  he  approached  the 
front,  he  saw  the  bushy  ridge  in  which,  or  back  of  which,  the 
men  lay  at  rest.  Behind  them  were  surgeons  selecting  partially 
protected  places  for  immediate  aid,  stretcher-bearers,  ambu 
lances  and  all  the  mechanism  of  help  for  the  wounded.  Offi 
cers  were  making  sure  that  men  had  at  hand  one  hundred 
rounds  of  ammunition. 

Some  three  hundred  yards  behind  the  mid-centre  of  the  Sec 
ond  Corps,  on  the  Taneytown  road,  Penhallow  was  directed  to 
a  small,  rather  shabby  one-storey  farm-house.  "  By  George," 
he  murmured,  "here  is  one  general  who  means  to  be  near  the 
front."  He  was  met  at  the  door  by  the  tall  handsome  figure 
of  General  Hancock,  a  blue-eyed  man  with  a  slight  moustache 
over  a  square  expressively  firm  jaw. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Penhallow.  Meade  was  anxious  —  I  knew 
you  would  be  on  time.  Come  in." 

Penhallow  saw  before  him  a  mean  little  room,  on  one  side 
a  wide  bed  with  a  gaudy  coverlet,  on  a  pine  table  in  the  centre 
a  bucket  of  water,  a  tin  cup,  and  a  candle-stick.  Five  rickety 
rush-covered  chairs  completed  the  furnishings. 

Meade  rose  from  study  of  the  map  an  engineer  officer  was 
explaining.  He  was  unknown  to  Penhallow,  who  observed  him 
with  interest  —  a  tall  spare  man  with  grey-sprinkled  dark  hair 
a  large  Eoman  nose  and  spectacles  over  wide  blue  eyes;  a 


WESTWAYS  365 

gentleman  of  the  best,  modest,  unassuming,  and  now  carelessly 
clad. 

"  Colonel  Penhallow/'  said  Hancock. 

"  Glad  to  see  you/7  He  turned  to  receive  with  evident  pleas 
ure  a  report  of  the  morning's  fight  on  the  right  wing,  glanced 
without  obvious  interest  at  the  captured  flag  of  the  Stonewall 
Brigade,  and  greeted  the  colonel  warmly.  "  I  can  only  offer 
you  water/'  he  said.  "  Sit  down.  You  may  like  to  look  over 
this  map/' 

While  the  Commander  wrote  orders  and  despatched  aide 
after  aide,  Penhallow  bent  over  the  map.  "You  see/'  said 
Hancock,  "we  have  unusual  luck  for  us  in  a  short  interior 
line.  I  judge  from  the  moving  guidons  that  Lee  is  extending 
his  front  —  it  may  be  six  miles  long." 

"And  ours?" 

"Well,  from  wing  to  wing  across  the  loop  to  right,  not  half 
of  that." 

"  I  see,"  said  Penhallow,  and  accepting  a  drink  of  tepid 
water  he  went  out  to  find  and  report  to  the  chief  of  artillery, 
General  Hunt. 

He  met  him  with  General  John  Gibbon  and  two  aides  a  few 
yards  from  the  door,  and  making  his  brief  report  learned  as 
he  moved  away  that  there  was  some  trouble  on  the  left  wing. 
Meade  coming  out  with  Hancock,  they  mounted  and  rode  away 
in  haste,  too  late  to  correct  General  Sickles'  unfortunate  de 
cision  to  improve  General  Meade's  battle-line.  It  was  not 
Penhallow's  business,  nor  did  he  then  fully  understand  that 
costly  blunder.  Returning  to  his  guns,  he  sent,  as  Hunt  had 
ordered,  two  of  his  reserve  batteries  up  to  the  back  of  the  line 
of  the  Second  Corps,  and  finding  General  Gibbon  temporarily 
in  command  walked  with  him  to  what  is  now  called  the 
"  Crest "  and  stood  among  Cushing's  guns.  Alertly  interested, 
Penhallow  saw  to  the  left,  half  hidden  by  bushes  and  a  clump 
of  trees,  a  long  line  of  infantry  lying  at  ease,  their  muskets  in 


366  WESTWAYS 

glittering  stacks  behind  them.  To  the  right  the  ground  was 
more  open.  A  broken  stone  fence  lay  in  front  of  the  Second 
Corps.  It  was  patched  with  fence  rails  and  added  stone,  and 
where  the  clump  of  trees  projected  in  advance  of  the  line  made 
a  right  angle  and  extended  thence  in  front  of  the  batteries  on  the 
Crest  about  thirty  yards.  Then  it  met  a  like  right  angle  of  stone 
fencing  and  followed  the  line  far  to  the  right.  Behind  these 
rude  walls  lay  the  Pennsylvania  and  New  York  men,  three 
small  regiments.  Further  back  on  a  little  higher  ground  was 
the  silent  array  of  cannon,  thus  able  at  need  to  fire  over 
the  heads  of  the  guarding  infantry,  now  idly  lying  at  rest 
in  the  baking  heat  of  a  July  morning.  The  men  about  the 
cannon  lounged  at  ease  on  the  ground  in  the  forty  foot  inter 
spaces  between  the  batteries,  some  eighteen  pieces  in  all. 

Suddenly  an  aide  rode  up,  and  saying,  "  See  you  again,  Pen- 
hallow,"  Gibbon  rode  away  in  haste.  Penhallow,  who  was 
carefully  gathering  in  all  that  could  then  be  seen  from  the 
locality,  moved  over  to  where  a  young  battery  captain  was 
leaning  against  a  cannon  wheel  wiping  the  sweat  from  his  face 
or  gazing  over  the  vale  below  him,  apparently  lost  in  thought. 
"  Captain  Gushing,  I  believe,"  said  the  colonel.  "  I  am  Col 
onel  Penhallow,  in  command  of  the  reserve  artillery." 

"  Indeed ! "  said  the  young  officer.  "  These  are  some  of 
your  guns — " 

"Not  mine  —  I  was  out  of  it  long  ago.  They  still  carry 
the  brand  of  my  old  iron-mills." 

"  We  shall  see,  sir,  that  they  do  honour  to  your  name." 

"I  am  sure  of  that,"  returned  the  colonel,  looking  at  the 
face  of  the  officer,  who  as  he  spoke  patted  the  gun  beside  him 
in  an  affectionate  way. 

"  It  seems  very  peaceful,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  returned  Penhallow,  "  very." 

They  looked  for  a  moment  of  silence  down  the  vale  before 


WESTWAYS  367 

them,  where  a  mile  away  the  ground  rose  to  a  low  ridge,  beyond 
which  in  woody  shelters  lay  the  hostile  lines. 

"What  road  is  that?"  asked  Penhallow.  "It  leaves  our 
right  and  crosses  to  enter  Lee's  right." 

"  The  Emmitsburg  Pike,  sir." 

The  Colonel's  glass  searched  the  space  before  him.  "  I  see 
some  fine  farm-houses  —  deserted,  of  course,  and  wheat  fields 
no  man  will  reap  this  year."  He  spoke  thoughtfully,  and  as 
Woodruff  of  the  nearer  battery  joined  them,  the  roar  of  cannon 
broke  the  stillness. 

"  Far  on  our  left,"  said  Woodruff.  At  the  sound,  the  men 
sprang  to  their  feet  and  took  their  stations.  Smoke  rose  and 
clouded  their  view  of  the  distant  field  where  on  our  left  a  fury 
of  battle  raged,  while  the  rattle  of  infantry  volleys  became 
continuous.  No  more  words  were  spoken.  Through  the  long 
afternoon  the  unseen  fight  went  on  in  front  of  the  Eound 
Tops.  As  it  came  nearer  and  the  grey  lines  were  visible,  the 
guns  on  the  Crest  opened  a  lively  fire  and  kept  up  their  de 
structive  business  until  the  approach  of  the  enemy  ceased  to 
extend  towards  our  centre  and  fell  away  in  death  or  disorderly 
flight.  About  sunset  this  varied  noise  subsided  and  the  remote 
sound  of  cheering  was  heard. 

"We  must  have  won,"  said  General  Webb,  the  brigade  com 
mander.  "  It  was  a  flanking  movement.  How  little  any  one 
man  knows  of  a  battle ! " 

"By  George!  I  am  glad  of  a  let  up,"  said  the  young  Cap 
tain.  "  I  am  vilely  dirty."  He  wiped  the  grime  and  sweat 
from  his  face  and  threw  himself  on  the  ground  as  Generals 
Hunt  and  Gibbon  rode  up. 

"No  great  damage  here,  I  see,  Webb.  They  got  awfully 
licked,  but  it  was  near  to  something  else." 

Questioned  by  Penhallow,  they  heard  the  news  of  our  need 
less  loss  and  final  triumphant  repulse  of  the  enemy.  Hunt 


368  WESTWAYS 

said  emphatic  things  about  political  generals  and  their  ways. 
"He  lost  a  leg/'  said  Gibbon,  "and  I  think  to  have  lost  his 
life  would  have  been  fortunate.  They  are  at  it  still  on  the 
right,  but  the  Twelfth  Corps  has  gone  back  to  Gulp's  Hill  and 
Ewell  will  get  his  share  of  pounding  —  if  it  be  his  corps." 

"  Then  we  may  get  some  sleep,"  said  Penhallow,  as  he  moved 
away.    "  I  have  had  very  little  for  two  nights." 


CHAPTEE  XXIV 

IT  was  near  to  seven  when  he  went  down  to  his  parked  guns, 
seeing  as  he  went  that  the  ways  were  kept  clear,  and  find 
ing  ready  hot  coffee  and  broiled  chicken. 

"  Where  did  you  get  this,  Josiah  ?  "  he  asked. 

<e  Kind  of  came  in,  sir  —  know'd  he  was  wanted  —  laid  two 
eggs/'  The  colonel  laughed  and  asked  no  further  questions. 

"Pull  off  my  boots.     Horses  all  right?" 

"Yes,  sir/' 

Without  undressing  he  fell  on  his  camp-bed  and,  towards 
dusk  thinking  with  grim  humour  of  his  wife  and  the  Penhallow 
guns,  fell  asleep.  About  four  in  the  morning  the  mad  clamour 
of  battle  awakened  him.  He  got  up  and  went  out  of  the  tent. 
The  night  air  was  hot  and  oppressive.  Far  to  our  right  there 
was  the  rattle  of  musketry  and  the  occasional  upward  flare  of 
cannon  flashes  against  low-lying  clouds.  From  the  farthest 
side  of  the  Taneytown  road  at  the  rear  he  heard  the  rattle  of 
ambulances  arriving  from  the  field  of  fight  to  leave  the 
wounded  in  tent  hospitals.  They  came  slowly,  marked  by  their 
flickering  lanterns,  and  were  away  again  more  swiftly.  He 
gave  some  vague  thought  to  the  wounded  and  to  the  surgeons, 
fpr  whom  the  night  was  as  the  day.  At  sunrise  he  went  up 
past  the  already  busy  headquarters  and  came  to  the  bush-hidden 
lines,  where  six  thousand  men  of  the  Second  Corps  along  a  half 
mile  of  the  irregular  far-stretched  Crest  were  up  and  busy. 
Fires  were  lighted,  coffee  boiled  and  biscuits  munched.  An  air 
of  confidence  and  gaiety  among  the  men  pleased  him  as  he 
paused  to  give  a  sergeant  a  pipe  light  and  divided  his  tobacco 

369 


370  WESTWAYS 

among  a  thankful  group  of  ragged  soldiers.  All  was  quiet. 
An  outpost  skirmish  on  the  right,  as  a  man  said,  "  was  petering 
out."  He  paused  here  and  there  to  talk  to  the  men,  and  was 
interested  to  hear  them  discussing  with  intelligence  the  ad 
vantage  of  our  short  line.  Now  and  then  the  guns  far  to  left 
or  right  quarrelled,  but  at  eleven  in  the  morning  this  third  of 
July  all  was  quiet  except  the  murmurous  noise  of  thousands 
of  men  who  talked  or  lay  at  rest  in  the  bushes  or  contrived  a 
refuge  from  the  sun  under  shelter  of  a  canvas  hung  on  ram 
rods. 

Generals  Gibbon  and  Webb,  coming  near,  promised  him  a  late 
breakfast,  and  he  went  with  them  to  the  little  peach  orchard 
near  the  headquarters  on  the  Taneytown  road.  They  sat  down 
on  mess-chests  or  cracker-boxes,  and  to  Penhallow's  amusement 
Josiah  appeared  with  John,  the  servant  of  Gibbon,  for  Josiah 
was,  as  he  said,  on  easy  terms  with  every  black  servant  in  the 
line.  Presently  Hancock  rode  up  with  Meade.  Generals  New 
ton  and  Pleasanton  also  appeared,  and  with  their  aides  joined 
them.  These  men  were  officially  Penhallow's  superiors,  and 
although  Hancock  and  Gibbon  were  his  friends,  he  made  no 
effort  to  take  part  in  the  discussion  in  regard  to  what  the  pass 
ing  day  would  bring.  He  had  his  own  opinion,  but  no  one 
asked  for  it  and  he  smoked  in  an  undisturbed  private  council 
of  war. 

At  last,  as  he  rose,  Newton  said,  "  You  knew  John  Reynolds 
well,  Penhallow.  A  moment  before  he  fell,  his  aide  had  begged 
him  to  fall  back  to  a  less  dangerous  position." 

"  He  was  my  friend  —  a  soldier  of  the  best." 

"  The  Pennsylvanians  are  in  force  to-day  —  you  and  I 
and—" 

"  Oh,  colonels  don't  count,"  laughed  Penhallow ;  "  but  there 
are  Meade,  Hancock,  Gregg,  Humphreys,  Hays,  Gibbon,  Geary, 
Crawford  — " 

Hancock    said,    "We   Pennsylvanians   hold   the   lowest   and 


WESTWAYS  371 

weakest  point  of  our  line  —  all  Pennsylvanians  on  their  own 
soil." 

"Yes,  but  they  will  not  attack  here,"  said  Newton. 

"Oh,  do  you  think  so?"  said  Hancock.     "Wait  a  little." 

The  headquarters'  ambulance  drove  up  with  further  supplies. 
The  chickens  were  of  mature  age,  but  every  one  was  hungry. 
Cigars  and  pipes  were  lighted,  and  Newton  chaffed  Gibbon 
as  the  arrogant  young  brigadier  in  command  for  the  time  of 
Hancock's  Corps.  The  talk  soon  fell  again  upon  the  proba 
bilities  of  the  day.  Penhallow  listened.  Meade  grave  and 
silent  sat  on  a  cracker-box  and  ate  in  an  absent  way,  or  scribbled 
orders,  and  at  last  directed  that  the  picked  body  of  men,  the 
provost's  guards,  should  join  their  regimental  commands. 
About  a  quarter  to  noon  the  generals  one  by  one  rode  away. 

Having  no  especial  duty,  Penhallow  walked  to  where  on 
the  Crest  the  eighteen  guns  were  drawn  up.  The  sky  was  clear 
as  yet,  a  windless,  hot  day.  Gibbon  joined  him. 

"What  next?"  said  Gibbon,  as  Penhallow  clambered  up  and 
stood  a  tall  figure  on  the  limber  of  one  of  Cushing's  guns,  his 
field  glass  searching  the  valley  and  the  enemy's  position. 
"  Is  n't  it  like  a  big  chess-board  ?  " 

"Yes  —  their  skirmishers  look  like  grey  posts,  and  our  own 
blue.  They  seem  uneasy." 

"  Are  n't  they  just  like  pawns  in  the  game !  "  remarked  Cap 
tain  Haskell  of  the  Staff. 

Penhallow,  intent,  hardly  heard  them,  but  said  presently, 
"  There  are  guidons  moving  fast  to  their  right." 

"  Oh,  artillery  taking  position.  We  shall  hear  from  them," 
returned  Gibbon.  "  Hancock  thinks  that  being  beaten  on  both 
flanks,  Lee  will  attack  our  centre,  and  this  is  the  lowest  point." 

"Well,"  said  Haskell,  "it  would  be  madness  —  can  Lee  re 
member  Malvern  Hill  ?  " 

"  I  wonder  what  Grant  is  doing  ? "  remarked  Gibbon.  At 
that  time,  seated  under  an  oak,  watched  at  a  distance  by  John 


373  WESTWAYS 

Penhallow  and  a  group  of  officers,  he  was  dictating  to  unlucky 
Pemberton  the  terms  of  Vicksburg's  surrender. 

Penhallow  got  down  from  his  perch  and  wandered  among  the 
other  guns,  talking  to  the  men  who  were  lying  on  the  sod,  or 
interested  in  the  battery  horses  behind  the  shelter  of  trees 
quietly  munching  the  thin  grasses.  He  returned  to  Cushing's 
guns,  and  being  in  the  mental  attitude  of  intense  attention  to 
things  he  would  not  usually  have  noticed,  he  was  struck  with 
the  young  captain's  manly  build,  and  then  with  his  delicacy 
of  feature,  something  girl-like  and  gentle  in  his  ways. 

Penhallow  remarked  that  the  guns  so  hot  already  from  the 
sun  would  be  too  easily  overheated  when  they  were  put  to  use. 
"Ah,"  returned  Gushing,  "but  will  they  be  asked  to  talk  to 
day  ? "  The  innocent  looking  smile  and  the  quick  flash  of 
wide-opened  eyes  told  of  his  wish  to  send  messages  across  the 
vale. 

"Yes,  I  think  so,"  said  the  colonel;  "I  think  so," — and 
again  observant  he  saw  the  slight  figure  straighten  and  a  quite 
other  look  of  tender  sadness  come  upon  his  face. 

"  How  quiet  they  are  —  how  very  quiet !  "  Then  he  laughed 
merrily.  "  See  that  dog  on  the  Emmitsburg  road.  He 
does  n't  know  which  side  he  's  on." 

Penhallow  looked  at  his  watch.  "It  is  one  o'clock."  Then 
his  glass  was  up.  "  Ah !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  closed  it,  "  now 
we  shall  catch  it.  I  thought  as  much." 

A  mile  away,  far  on  Lee's  right,  on  the  low  ridge  in  front 
of  his  position,  a  flash  of  light  was  seen.  As  the  round  ring 
of  smoke  shot  out  from  the  cannon,  the  colonel  remembered 
the  little  Leila's  delight  when  he  blew  smoke  rings  as  they  sat 
on  the  porch.  Instantly  a  second  gun  spoke.  The  two  shells 
flew  over  our  line  and  lit  far  to  the  rear,  while  at  once  along 
Lee's  position  a  hundred  and  fifty  guns  rang  out  and  were  in 
stantly  answered  by  our  own  artillery  from  Bound  Top  to 
Cemetery  Hill.  General  Hunt  beside  him  replying  to  the 


WESTWAYS  373 

quick  questions  he  put,  said,  "  We  could  not  place  over  seventy- 
five  guns  —  not  room  enough." 

"Is  that  all?  They  are  distributing  their  favours  along 
our  whole  front." 

At  once  a  vast  shroud  of  smoke  rose  and  hid  both  lines,  while 
out  of  it  flew  countless  shell  and  roundshot.  At  first  most  of 
the  Confederate  missiles  flew  high  and  fell  far  behind  our 
Crest.  The  two  officers  were  coolly  critical  as  they  stood  be 
tween  the  batteries. 

"  He  must  think  our  men  are  back  of  the  guns  like  his  own. 
The  wall  and  bushes  hide  them." 

"  The  fuses  are  too  long,"  said  Hunt  quietly.  "  That 's  bet 
ter  and  worse,"  he  added,  as  a  shell  exploded  near  by  and  one 
of  Woodruff's  guns  went  out  of  action  and  the  ground  was 
strewn  with  the  dead  and  wounded.  "We  shall  want  some  of 
your  guns." 

Penhallow  went  in  haste  to  the  rear.  What  he  saw  was  ter 
rible.  The  iron  hail  of  shells  fell  fast  around  him  on  the  wide 
open  space  or  even  as  far  away  as  the  hospital  tents.  On  or  near 
the  Taneytown  road  terror-stricken  wagon- drivers  were  flying, 
ammunition  mules  were  torn  to  pieces  or  lying  mangled ;  a  shell 
exploded  in  a  wagon, —  driver,  horses  and  a  load  of  bread  were 
gone.  Horses  lay  about,  dead  or  horribly  torn;  one  horse 
hitched  to  a  tree  went  on  cropping  grass.  Penhallow  missed 
nothing.  He  was  in  the  mood  peril  always  brought.  Men 
said  he  was  a  slow,  sure  thinker,  and  missed  seeing  things  which 
did  not  interest  him.  Now  he  was  gay,  tuned  to  the  highest 
pitch  of  automatic  watchfulness,  as  this  far-sent  storm  of  burst 
ing  shells  went  over  and  past  the  troops  it  was  meant  to 
destroy.  Hurrying  through  it  he  saw  the  wide  slope  clear  rap 
idly  of  what  was  left  of  active  life.  He  laughed  as  a  round 
shot  knocked  a  knapsack  off  a  man's  back.  The  man  unhurt 
did  not  stay  to  look  for  it.  Once  the  colonel  dropped  as  a  shell 
lit  near  him.  It  did  not  explode.  He  ejaculated,  "  Pshaw," 


374  WESTWAYS 

and  went  on.  He  came  near  the  Taneytown  road  to  find  that 
his  artillery  had  suffered.  A  score  of  harnessed  horses  lay  dead 
or  horribly  mangled.  His  quick  orders  sent  up  to  the  front  a 
dozen  guns.  Some  were  horsed,  some  were  pulled  with  ropes 
by  the  cheering,  eager  cannoneers.  Their  way  was  up  the  de 
serted  slope,  "well  cleared  by  the  enemy,"  thought  Penhallow 
with  a  smile.  Once  he  looked  back  and  saw  the  far  flight  of  a 
shell  end  in  or  near  an  ambulance  of  the  wounded  beyond  the 
Taneytown  road. 

During  his  absence  gun  after  gun  had  been  disabled  and  a 
caisson  exploded;  the  gun  crews  lay  dead  or  wounded.  What 
more  horribly  disturbed  Penhallow  was  the  hideous  screams  of 
the  battery  horses.  "  Ah !  the  pity  of  it.  They  had  no  cause 
to  die  for  —  no  duty  —  no  choice/'  As  he  assisted  in  replacing 
the  wreckage  of  the  guns,  he  still  heard  the  cries  of  the  animals 
who  so  dumb  in  peace  found  in  torture  voices  of  anguish  un 
heard  before  —  unnatural,  strange.  The  appalling  tempest  of 
shells  screamed  on  and  on,  while  the  most  of  them  fell  beyond 
the  Crest.  Penhallow  looked  up  to  note  their  flight.  They 
darted  overhead  shrill-voiced  or  hissing.  There  was  a  white 
puff  of  smoke,  a  red  flash,  and  an  explosion. 

General  Gibbon,  coming  back  from  the  long  line  of  his  corps, 
said,  "  My  men  have  suffered  very  little,  but  the  headquarters 
behind  them  are  in  ruin.  Meade  has  moved  back."  As  he 
spoke  the  shells  began  to  fall  on  the  Crest. 

"  They  seem  to  be  more  attentive  to  us,"  said  the  battery  Cap 
tain  Woodruff.  "  Thought  we  ?d  catch  it !  " 

"  Horrible !  —  Those  horses,  Gibbon,"  said  Penhallow. 

At  last  there  seemed  to  be  more  concentrated  firing  on  the 
Crest.  Many  shells  fell  near  the  imperfect  wall-shelter  of  the 
crouching  men,  while  others  exploded  among  the  lines  to  left 
or  right  in  the  bushes. 

"  They  are  doing  better  now,  confound  them ! "  said  the 
young  general  coolly.  "  Our  men  at  the  wall  seem  disturbed. 


WESTWAYS  375 

Come  with  me,"  he  said  to  Penhallow  and  Haskell  of  the  Staff, 
who  had  just  joined  them. 

They  went  down  in  front  of  the  guns  to  where  behind  the 
low  wall  lay  the  two  thin  lines  of  the  Pennsylvania  regiments. 
He  spoke  to  the  Colonel  of  the  71st,  who  wrch  other  officers 
was  afoot  encouraging  the  men. 

"  Keep  cool,  boys,"  said  Gibbon. 

The  men  laughed.  "  Oh,  we  're  all  right,  General,  but  we 
ain't  cool." 

Gibbon  laughed.  "Let  us  go  over  the  wall  and  try  to  see 
a  little  better,"  said  Penhallow. 

A  hundred  yards  beyond  the  lines  they  sat  down.  The  cease 
less  rain  of  shot  and  shell  from  both  sides  went  over  them, 
the  canopy  of  smoke  being  so  high  above  that  the  interspace 
between  the  lines  was  now  more  or  less  visible.  Far  beyond 
them  our  skirmish  outposts  were  still  motionless  on  guard;  and 
yet  further  farms  and  houses,  some  smoking  in  ruin,  lay  among 
the  green  fields  along  the  Emmitsburg  Pike. 

"It  is  pretty  safe  here,"  said  the  Corps  Commander,  while 
far  above  them  the  shells  sang  their  war  notes. 

Penhallow  looked  back.  "They've  got  the  range  —  there 
goes  one  of  the  guns  —  oh !  and  another." 

"  Let 's  go  back,"  said  Gibbon,  rising,  "  we  are  too  safe  here." 

They  laughed  at  his  reason  and  followed  him,  Haskell  re 
marking  on  the  lessening  of  the  fire.  As  they  moved  about 
the  forty-foot  spaces  between  the  disabled  batteries,  the  last 
cannon-ball  rolled  by  them  and  bounded  down  the  slope  harm 
less.  At  once  there  was  movement, —  quick  orders,  officers 
busy,  as  fresh  cannon  replaced  the  wrecked  pieces.  Many  of 
the  unhurt  cannoneers  lay  down  utterly  exhausted.  The  dead 
were  drawn  aside,  while  the  wounded  crawled  away  or  were 
cared  for  by  the  stretcher-bearers  and  surgeons.  Meanwhile  the 
dense,  hot,  smoke-pall  rose  slowly  and  drifted  away.  The  field- 
glasses  were  at  once  in  use. 


376  WESTWAYS 

"  It  is  half-past  two,"  said  General  Hunt;  "  what  next?  Oh! 
our  skirmishers  are  falling  back." 

"  They  are  going  to  attack/'  said  Haskell,  "  and  can  they 
mean  our  whole  line  —  or  where?" 

The  cannoneers  were  called  to  their  pieces,  and  silently  ex 
pectant  the  little  group  waited  on  the  fateful  hour,  while  the 
orderly  quiet  of  discipline  was  to  be  seen  on  the  Crest.  The 
field-glasses  of  the  officers  were  searching  with  intense  interest 
the  more  and  more  visible  vale. 

"  Pretty  plain  now,  Gibbon,"  said  Hunt. 

"Yes,  we  are  in  for  it." 

"  They  are  forming,"  said  Penhallow.  A  line  appeared  from 
the  low  swell  of  ground  in  front  of  Lee's  position  —  then  a 
second  and  a  third.  Muskets  and  bayonets  flashed  in  the  sun. 

"  Can  you  make  out  their  flags  ?  "  asked  Gibbon,  "  or  their 
numbers  ?  " 

"Not  the  flags."  He  waited  intent,  watchful.  No  one 
spoke  —  minute  after  minute  went  by.  At  last  Penhallow  an 
swered.  "  A  long  line  —  a  good  half  mile  —  quite  twelve 
thousand  —  oh,  more  —  more.  Now  they  are  advancing  en 
echelon/' 

To  left,  to  right,  along  our  lines  was  heard  the  thud,  thud, 
of  the  ramrods,  and  percussion-cap  boxes  were  slid  around  the 
waist  to  be  handy.  Penhallow  and  others  drew  their  pistols.  The 
cannon  were  now  fully  replaced,  the  regimental  flags  unrolled, 
and  on  the  front  line,  long  motionless,  the  trefoil  guidons  of  the 
two  divisions  of  the  Second  Corps  fluttered  feebly.  The  long  row 
of  skirmishers  firing  fell  back  more  and  more  rapidly,  and  came 
at  last  into  our  lines. 

Penhallow  said,  turning  to  Gibbon,  "  They  have  —  I  think  — 
they  have  no  supporting  batteries  —  that  is  strange."  Haskell 
and  Gibbon  had  gone  as  he  spoke  and  the  low  crest  was  free  at 
this  point  of  all  but  the  artillery  force.  To  left,  the  projecting 


WESTWAYS  377 

clump  of  trees  and  the  lines  of  the  Second  Corps  —  all  he  could 
see  —  were  ominously  quiet. 

Gibbon  came  back  to  the  crest.  He  said,  "We  may  need 
backing  if  they  concentrate  on  us;  here  our  line  is  too  thin." 
And  still  the  orderly  grey  columns  came  on  silently,  without 
their  usual  charging-yell. 

"  Ah ! "  exclaimed  Penhallow  without  lowering  his  glass,  as 
he  gazed  to  our  left.  The  clamour  of  cannon  broke  out  from 
little  Eound  Top. 

"  Kifles !  "  exclaimed  Gibbon.  "  Good !  "  Their  left  made  no 
reply,  but  seemed  to  draw  away  from  the  fire. 

"  I  can  see  no  more/'  said  the  Colonel,  "  but  they  stopped  at 
the  Emmitsburg  road." 

The  acrid  odour  of  musketry  drifted  across  the  field  as  he 
turned  to  gaze  at  the  left  wing  of  the  fast  coming  onset.  Far  to 
our  right  they  came  under  the  fire  of  Cemetery  Hill  and  of  an 
advanced  Massachusetts  regiment.  He  saw  the  blue  flags  of 
Virginia  sway,  fall,  and  rise  no  more,  while  scattered  and  broken 
the  Confederates  fled  or  fell  under  the  fury  of  the  death  mes 
sages  from  above  the  long-buried  dead  of  the  village  graves. 
"  Now  then,  Gushing ! "  cried  Hunt,  and  the  guns  on  the  Crest 
opened  fire. 

It  was  plain  that  the  long  Confederate  lines,  frayed  on  each 
flank,  had  crowded  together  making  a  vast  wedge  of  attack. 
Then  all  along  our  miles  of  troops  a  crackle  of  musketry  broke 
out,  the  big  guns  bellowing.  The  field  was  mostly  lost  to  view 
in  the  dense  smoke,  under  which  the  charging-force  halted  and 
steadily  returned  the  fire. 

"  I  can't  see,"  cried  Gushing  near  by. 

"  Quite  three  hundred  yards  or  more,"  said  the  colonel,  "  and 
you  are  hurt,  Gushing.  Go  to  the  rear."  The  blood  was  stream 
ing  down  his  leg. 

"  Not   I  —  it  is  nothing.     Hang  those   fellows ! "     A   New 


378  WEST  WAYS 

York  battery  gallantly  run  in  between  disabled  guns  crowded 
Cushing's  cannon.  He  cried,  "  Section  one  to  the  front,  by 
hand!" 

He  was  instantly  obeyed.  As  he  went  with  it  to  the  front 
near  to  the  wall,  followed  by  Penhallow,  he  said,  "It  is  my 
last  canister,  colonel.  I  can't  see  well." 

Dimly  seen  figures  in  the  dense  smoke  were  visible  here  and 
there  some  two  hundred  yards  away,  with  flutter  of  reeling  bat 
tle-flags  in  the  smoke,  while  more  and  more  swiftly  the  wedge 
of  men  came  on,  losing  terribly  by  the  fire  of  the  men  at  the 
wall  along  the  lines. 

Gushing  stood  with  the  lanyard  of  the  percussion  trigger 
in  his  hand.  It  seems  inconceivable,  but  the  two  men  smiled. 
Then  he  cried,  "  My  God !  " —  his  figure  swayed,  he  held  his 
left  hand  over  a  ghastly  wound  in  his  side,  and  as  he  reeled  pulled 
the  lanyard.  He  may  have  seen  the  red  flash,  and  then  with  a 
bullet  through  the  open  mouth  fell  dead  across  the  trail  of  his 
gun. 

For  a  moment  Penhallow  was  the  only  officer  of  rank  near 
the  silent  battery.  Where  Cushing's  two  guns  came  too  near  the 
wall,  the  men  moved  away  to  the  sides  leaving  an  unguarded 
space.  Checked  everywhere  to  right  and  left,  the  assailants 
crowded  on  to  the  clump  of  trees  and  to  where  the  Pennsylvania 
line  held  the  stone  wall.  Ignorant  of  the  ruin  behind  them,  the 
grey  mass  came  on  with  a  rush  through  the  smoke.  The  men  in 
blue,  losing  terribly,  fell  back  from  a  part  of  the  wall  in  confusion 
—  a  mere  mob  —  sweeping  Webb,  Penhallow  and  others  with 
them,  swearing  and  furious.  Two  or  three  hundred  feet  back 
they  stopped,  a  confused  mass.  General  Webb,  Haskell  and 
other  officers  rallied  them.  The  red  flags  gathered  thicker,  where 
the  small  units  of  many  commands  stood  fast  under  the  shelter 
of  a  portion  of  the  lost  wall.  Penhallow  looked  back  and  saw 
the  Massachusetts  flags  —  our  centre  alone  had  given  way.  The 
flanks  of  the  broken  regiments  still  held  the  wall  and  poured 


WESTWAYS  379 

in  a  murderous  fire  where  the  splendid  courage  of  the  onset 
halted,  unwilling  to  fly,  unable  to  go  on. 

Webb,  furious,  rallied  his  men,  while  Penhallow,  Haskell  and 
Gibbon  vainly  urged  an  advance.  A  colour-sergeant  ran  for 
ward  and  fell  dead.  A  corporal  caught  up  the  flag  and  dropped. 
A  Confederate  general  leaped  over  the  deserted  wall  and  laid 
a  hand  on  Cushing's  gun.  He  fell  instantly  at  the  side  of  the 
dead  captain,  as  with  a  sudden  roar  of  fury  the  broken  Pennsyl- 
vanians  rolled  in  a  disordered  mass  of  men  and  officers  against 
the  disorganized  valour  which  held  the  wall. 

The  smoke  held  —  still  holds,  the  secret  of  how  many  met  the 
Northern  men  at  the  wall;  how  long  they  fought  among  Gush- 
ing's  guns,  on  and  over  the  wall,  no  man  who  came  out  of  it 
could  tell.  Penhallow  emptied  his  revolver  and  seizing  a  musket 
fought  the  brute  battle  with  the  men  who  used  fists,  stones, 
gun-rammers  —  a  howling  mob  of  blue  and  grey.  And  so  the 
swaying  flags  fell  down  under  trampling  men  and  the  lost  wall 
was  won.  The  fight  was  over.  Men  fell  in  scores,  asking  quarter. 
The  flanking  fires  had  been  merciless,  and  the  slope  was  popu 
lous  with  dead  and  wounded  men,  while  far  away  the  smoke 
half  hid  the  sullen  retreat  of  the  survivors.  The  prearranged 
mechanism  of  war  became  active.  Thousands  of  prisoners  were 
being  ordered  to  the  rear.  Men  stood  still,  gasping,  breathless  or 
dazed.  As  Penhallow  stood  breathing  hard,  from  the  right 
wing,  among  the  long  silent  dead  of  Cemetery  Hill,  arose  a 
wild  hurrah.  It  gathered  volume,  rolled  down  the  long  line 
of  corps  after  corps,  and  died  away  among  the  echoes  of  the 
Pennsylvania  hills.  He  looked  about  him  trying  to  recover 
interest.  Some  one  said  that  Hancock  and  Gibbon  were 
wounded.  The  rush  of  the  melee  had  carried  him  far  down  the 
track  of  the  charge,  and  having  no  instant  duty  he  sat  down, 
his  clothes  in  tatters.  As  he  recovered  strength,  he  was  aware 
of  General  Meade  on  horseback  with  an  aide.  The  gen 
eral,  white  and  grave,  said  to  Haskell,  "  How  has  it  gone  here  ?  " 


380  WESTWAYS 

An  officer  cried,  "  They  are  beaten/5  showing  two  flags  he 
held. 

Meade  said  sharply :  "  Damn  the  flags !  Are  the  men 
gone  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  the  attack  is  over/' 

He  uncovered,  said  only,  "  Thank  God ! "  gave  some  rapid 
orders  and  rode  away  beside  the  death-swath,  careful,  as  Pen- 
hallow  saw,  to  keep  his  horse  off  of  the  thirty  scattered  flags, 
many  lying  under  or  over  the  brave  who  had  fought  and  lost 
in  this  memorable  charge. 

Penhallow  could  have  known  of  the  battle  only  what  he  had 
seen,  but  a  few  words  from  an  officer  told  him  that  nowhere 
except  at  this  part  of  the  line  of  the  Second  Corps  had  the 
attack  been  at  all  fortunate. 

On  the  wide  field  of  attack  our  ambulance  corps  was  res 
cuing  the  hundreds  of  wounded  Confederates,  many  of  them 
buried,  helpless,  beneath  the  bodies  of  the  motionless  dead. 
Two  soldiers  stood  near  him  derisively  flaunting  flags. 

"Quit  that,"  cried  the  Colonel,  "drop  them!"  The  men 
obeyed. 

"  Death  captured  them  —  not  we/'  said  Penhallow,  and  saw 
that  he  was  speaking  to  a  boyish  Confederate  lieutenant,  who 
had  just  dragged  himself  limping  out  of  the  ghastly  heap  of 
dead. 

Touching  his  forehead  in  salute,  he  said,  "Thank  you,  sir. 
Where  shall  I  go  ?  " 

"Up  there,"  replied  the  colonel.     "You  will  be  cared  for/' 

The  man  limped  away  followed  by  Penhallow,  who  glanced  at 
the  torn  Confederate  banners  lying  blood-stained  about  the  wall 
and  beyond  it.  He  read  their  labels  —  Manassas,  Chancellors- 
ville,  Sharpsburg.  One  marked  Fredericksburg  lay  gripped  in 
the  hand  of  a  dead  sergeant.  He  crossed  the  wall  to  look  for 
the  body  of  the  captain  of  the  battery;  men  were  lifting  it. 
"  My  God !  • —  Poor  boy !  "  murmured  the  colonel,  as  he  looked 


WESTWAYS  281 

on  the  white  face  of  death.  He  asked  who  was  the  Eebel 
general  who  had  fallen  beside  Gushing. 

"  General  Armistead,"  said  an  officer  — "  mortally  wounded, 
they  say." 

Penhallow  turned  and  went  down  the  slope  again.  Far 
away,  widely  scattered,  he  caught  glimpses  of  this  rash  and 
gallant  attack.  He  was  aware  of  that  strange  complex  odour 
which  rises  from  a  battlefield.  It  affected  him  as  horrible 
and  as  unlike  any  other  unpleasant  smell.  Feeling  better,  he 
busied  himself  directing  those  who  were  aiding  the  wounded. 
A  general  officer  he  did  not  know  said  to  him,  "  Stop  the 
firing  from  that  regiment." 

A  number  of  still  excited  men  of  one  of  the  flanking  brigades 
on  our  right  were  firing  uselessly  at  the  dimly  seen  and  remote 
mass  of  the  enemy.  Penhallow  went  quickly  to  the  right,  and 
as  he  drew  near  shouted,  "  Stop  those  men  —  quit  firing !  "  He 
raised  his  hand  to  call  attention  to  his  order.  The  firing 
lessened,  and  seeing  that  he  was  understood  he  turned  away.  At 
the  moment  he  was  not  fifty  feet  from  the  flanking  line,  and  had 
moved  far  down  the  slope  as  one  of  the  final  shots  rang  out. 
He  felt  something  like  a  blow  on  his  right  temple,  and  as  he 
staggered  was  aware  of  the  gush  of  blood  down  his  face.  "  What 
fool  did  that  ?  "  he  exclaimed  as  he  reeled  and  fell.  He  rose, 
fell,  rose  again,  and  managed  to  tie  a  handkerchief  around  his 
head.  He  stumbled  to  the  wall  and  lay  down,  his  head  aching. 
He  could  go  no  further.  "  Queer,  that,"  he  murmured ;  "  they 
might  have  seen."  He  sat  up ;  things  around  him  were  doubled 
to  his  view. 

"  Are  you  hit  ?  "  said  Haskell,  who  was  directing  stretcher- 
bearers  and  sending  prisoners  to  the  rear. 

"  Not  badly."  He  was  giddy  and  in  great  pain.  Then  he 
was  aware  of  the  anxious  face  of  Josiah. 

"  My  God !  you  hurt,  sir  ?  Come  to  look  for  you  —  can  you 
ride?  I  fetched  Dixy  —  mare's  killed." 


382  WESTWAYS 

"  I  am  not  badly  hurt.  Tighten  this  handkerchief  and  give 
me  your  arm  —  I  can't  ride." 

He  arose,  and  amazed  at  his  weakness,  dragged  himself  down 
the  slope,  through  the  reforming  lines,  the  thousands  of  prison 
ers,  the  reinforcing  cannon  and  the  wreckage  of  the  hillside. 
He  fell  on  his  couch,  and  more  at  ease  began  to  think,  with 
some  difficulty  in  controlling  his  thoughts.  At  last  he  said, 
"  I  shall  be  up  to-morrow,"  and  lay  still,  seeing,  as  the  late 
afternoon  went  by,  Grey  Pine  and  Ann  Penhallow.  Then 
he  was  aware  of  Captain  Haskell  and  a  surgeon,  who 
dressed  his  wound  and  said,  "  It  was  mere  shock  —  there  is  no 
fracture.  The  ball  cut  the  artery  and  tore  the  scalp.  You'll 
be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two." 

Penhallow  said,  "  Please  to  direct  my  servant  to  the  Sanitary 
Commission.  I  think  my  friend,  the  Eev.  Mark  Eivers,  is 
with  them." 

He  slept  none.  It  was  early  dawn  when  Eivers  came  in 
anxious  and  troubled.  For  the  first  time  in  years  of  acquaint 
ance  he  found  Penhallow  depressed,  and  amazed  because  so 
small  a  wound  made  him  weak  and  unable  to  think  clearly  or  to 
give  orders.  "  And  it  was  some  stupid  boy  from  our  line,"  he 


His  incapacity  made  Eivers  uneasy,  and  although  Penhallow 
broke  out  to  his  surprise  in  angry  remonstrance,  he  convinced 
him  at  last  that  he  must  return  to  Grey  Pine  on  sick  leave.  He 
asked  no  question  about  the  army.  Insisting  that  he  was  too 
well  to  give  up  his  command,  nevertheless  he  talked  much  of 
headache  and  lack  of  bodily  power.  He  was,  as  Eivers  saw,  no 
longer  the  good-humoured,  quiet  gentleman,  with  no  thought 
of  self.  In  a  week  he  was  stronger,  but  as  his  watchful  friend 
realized,  there  was  something  mysteriously  wrong  with  his  men 
tal  and  moral  mechanism. 

On  the  day  after  the  battle  Penhallow  asked  to  have  his 
wife  telegraphed  that  he  was  slightly  wounded,  and  that  she 


WESTWAYS  383 

must  not  come  to  him.    Rivers  wrote  also  a  brief  and  guarded 
letter  to  Leila  of  their  early  return  to  Grey  Pine. 

In  a  vain  effort  to  interest  the  colonel,  he  told  him  of  the 
surrender  of  Vicksburg. —  He  asked  where  it  was  and  wasn't 
John  there,  but  somewhat  later  became  more  clear-minded  and 
eager  to  go  home. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

RIVEES  gathered  no  comfort  from  a  consultation  of  sur 
geons,  who  talked  of  the  long-lasting  effects  of  concussion 
of  the  brain.  Made  careful  by  the  sad  change  he  had  ob 
served  in  Ann  Penhallow  when  last  seen,  he  sent  his  telegram 
for  Leila  to  the  care  of  the  post-mistress,  and  a  day  later  a 
brief  letter. 

Understanding  the  mode  of  address,  Mrs.  Crocker  walked  at 
once  to  Grey  Pine,  and  found  Leila  in  the  garden.  "Where 
is  your  aunt  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Lying  down  in  her  room.  I  got  your  kind  note  about  the 
fight  last  evening.  Is  it  true?  Is  the  news  confirmed?" 

"  Yes.  There  was  a  terrible  battle  at  Gettysburg.  The 
Rebels  were  defeated  by  General  Meade  and  are  retreating." 

"I  did  not  tell  Aunt  Ann  anything.  I  waited  to  hear,  as  I 
was  sure  I  would  from  Uncle  James.  Is  there  evil  news  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Here  is  a  telegram  to  my  care  for  you  from 
Mr.  Rivers.  It  must  have  been  delayed  —  and  then  came  this 
letter  to  Mrs.  Penhallow  from  him." 

"  Then  —  then  —  there  is  bad  news,"  she  cried  as  she  tore 
open  the  telegram  and  stood  still. 

"  What  is  it  ?  —  you  know  how  we  all  love  him." 

"Uncle  Jim  is  wounded  —  not  seriously  —  and  will  be  here 
shortly." 

"  Oh,  but  I  am  sorry  —  and  glad." 

"Yes  —  yes  —  I  must  tell  aunt  at  once.  She  has  not  left 
her  room  for  two  days,  and  I  forbade  the  maids  to  talk  of  the 
victory  until  it  was  sure  —  now  she  must  know  all.  I  must 
tell  hir  at  once." 

"Why  not  get  Dr.  McGregor?" 

384 


WESTWAYS  385 

"  No  —  no,"  she  returned  with  decision.  "  I  shall  know  best 
how  to  tell  —  it  wants  a  woman." 

The  ruddy,  stout  post-mistress  looked  at  the  tall  young 
woman  with  sudden  appreciation  of  her  self-command  and  men 
tal  growth.  "  Maybe  you  're  about  right,  but  I  thought  — 
well,  fact  is,  I  've  seen  of  late  so  many  people  just  tear  open  a 
letter  —  and  go  all  to  pieces." 

Leila  smiled.  "  You  don't  know  my  aunt.  Now  I  must  go. 
Oh,  this  war  —  this  war !  To-morrow  will  scatter  joy  and  grief 
over  all  the  land." 

"  Yes,  I  've  been  near  about  mobbed  to-day.     Good-bye." 

The  messenger  of  evil  news  went  straight  from  the  garden 
path,  where  the  roses  were  in  unusual  abundance.  To  her  sur 
prise  she  saw  her  aunt  on  the  back  porch.  As  Leila  hesitated, 
she  said,  "  I  saw  Mrs.  Crocker  from  my  window,  Leila.  She 
gave  you  something  —  a  letter  —  or  a  telegram.  What  is  it? 
I  suppose  after  what  I  have  heard  of  the  Confederates  at  York 
and  Carlisle,  they  may  be  in  Harrisburg  by  this  time  and  the 
railroad  to  the  west  cut  off.  It  may  be  well  to  know."  She 
spoke  rapidly  as  she  came  down  the  steps  to  meet  her  niece. 
"  It  is  as  well  James  Penhallow  is  not  in  it." 

The  two  women  stood  facing  one  another  in  one  of  those 
immeasurably  brief  silences  which  are  to  timeless  thought  as 
are  ages.  Her  husband  safe,  General  Lee  victorious  —  some 
slight  look  of  satisfaction  could  be  seen  in  her  face  —  a  faint 
smile,  too  easily  read  —  and  then  — 

"  Well,  dear,  your  news  ?  " 

Anger,  tenderness,  love,  pity  —  all  dictated  answers.  "Aunt 
Ann,  I  have  bad  news." 

"  Of  course,  dear.  It  was  to  be  expected.  You  won't  believe 
me,  but  I  am  sorry  for  you  and  for  James." 

The  face  of  the  tall  young  woman  flushed  hot.  She  had 
meant  to  spare  her  —  to  be  tender.  She  said,  "  General  Lee 
is  retreating  after  losing  a  great  battle  at  Gettysburg." 


386  WESTWAYS 

Her  aunt  said  quickly,  "But  James  Penhallow —  he  is  in 
Washington  ?  " 

"  No,  he  was  in  the  army  —  he  is  wounded  —  not  seriously  — 
and  he  is  coming  home." 

"  I  might  have  known  it."  A  great  illumination  came  over 
her  face  not  understood  by  Leila.  She  was  strangely  glad  for 
him  that  he  had  been  in  the  field  and  not  in  peaceful  safety 
at  Washington.  With  abrupt  change  of  expression,  she  added, 
"  Wounded  ?  Not  seriously.  That  is  n't  like  him  to  come  home 
for  a  slight  wound.  You  or  Mark  Rivers  are  hiding  something." 

(<  Not  I,  aunt ;  but  any  wound  that  kept  him  off  duty  would 
be  better  cared  for  here.  Lee's  defeat  leaves  him  free  for  a 
time  —  I  mean  at  ease  — " 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense !  "  she  cried.  "  What  do  I  care  for  Lee 
—  or  Meade  —  or  battles!  James  Penhallow  is  all  the  world 
to  me.  Victory !  " —  she  flamed  with  mounting  colour  — "  it 
is  I  am  the  victor!  He  comes  back  with  honour  —  I  have  no 
duties  —  no  country  —  I  have  only  my  love.  Oh,  my  God!  if 
he  had  died  —  if  —  if  —  I  should  have  hated! — "  She  spoke 
with  harsh  vehemence,  and  of  a  sudden  stopped,  and  breathing 
fast  gasped  in  low-voiced  broken  tones,  "  Don't  stare  at  me  — 
I  am  not  a  fool  —  I  am  —  I  am  —  only  the  fool  of  a  great 
love.  You  don't  know  what  it  means.  My  God!  I  have  no 
child  —  James  Penhallow  is  to  me  children,  husband  —  all  — 
everything."  She  stood  still,  wide-eyed,  staring  down  the  gar 
den  paths,  a  wonder  of  yearning  tenderness  in  her  face,  with 
Rivers's  letter  in  her  hand. 

"Read  your  letter,  Aunt." 

"  Yes  —  yes  —  I  forgot  it."  She  read  it,  and  said,  "  It  only 
confirms  the  telegram." 

The  storm  of  passionate  emotion  was  over.  Leila  amazed 
and  fearful  of  results  —  twice  seen  before  —  watched  her. 
"  You  have  seen,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  the  soul  of  a  great 
love  laid  bare.  May  you  too  some  day,  my  child,  love  as  I  do! 


WESTWAYS  387 

Have  no  fear  for  me  —  I  see  it  in  your  looks.  Come  in  —  I 
have  to  see  to  things  —  I  have  to  give  some  orders  —  there  will 
be  much  to  do."  She  was  at  once  quiet,  and  composedly  led  the 
way  into  the  house,  the  astonished  girl  following  her. 

In  the  hall  Mrs.  Penhallow  said,  "  I  fear,  dear,  I  have  left 
too  much  of  the  management  of  the  house  to  you  —  of  late,  I 
mean.  What  with  the  farms  and  stables,  I  am  not  surprised 
that  things  have  not  been  quite  as  James  would  desire.  I  am 
going  to  relieve  you  a  little.  I  suppose  the  stables  are  all 
right/' 

"  They  are,"  returned  Leila,  feeling  hurt.  Her  aunt  had 
not  been  in  the  kitchen  or  given  an  order  for  nearly  a  month, 
and  house,  farm  and  stables,  had  been  by  degrees  allowed  to 
slip  into  Leila's  well-trained  and  competent  hands.  Meanwhile 
Ann  Penhallow  had  gradually  failed  in  health  and  lost  interest 
in  duties  which  had  been  to  her,  as  Eivers  said,  what  social 
pleasures  were  to  some  women.  She  yielded  by  degrees  and  not 
without  resistance  to  mere  physical  weakness,  and  under  the 
emotional  stress  of  war,  and  above  all  the  absence  of  the  man 
on  whom  she  depended,  had  lapsed  to  McGregor's  dismay  into 
a  state  of  mind  and  body  for  which  he  had  no  remedy. 

Every  physician  of  large  experience  must  have  seen  cases  of 
self-created,  unresisted  invalidism  end  with  mysterious  abrupt 
ness  and  the  return  of  mental,  moral  and  physical  competence, 
under  the  influence  of  some  call  upon  their  sense  of  duty  made 
by  calamity,  such  as  an  acute  illness  in  the  household,  financial 
ruin,  or  the  death  of  a  husband.  The  return  of  a  wounded 
man  and  the  need  to  care  for  him  acted  thus  upon  Ann  Pen 
hallow. 

Leila  looked  on  in  surprise.  Her  aunt's  astounding  indiffer 
ence  to  the  results  of  defeat  for  her  beloved  South  when  she 
learned  of  her  husband's  injury  left  the  younger  woman  utterly 
bewildered.  Nothing  in  her  own  nature,  as  she  thought  it  all 
over,  enabled  her  to  understand  it,  nor  was  her  aunt's  rapid 


388  WESTWAYS 

gain  in  health  and  cheerfulness  during  the  next  few  days  more 
easy  to  explain.  At  first  with  effort,  but  very  soon  with  in 
crease  of  ability,  she  gradually  became  more  and  more  her  old 
self. 

Ann  Penhallow  spent  the  remainder  of  the  next  day  in  one 
of  those  household  inspections  which  let  no  failure  in  neatness 
or  order  escape  attention.  James  Penhallow's  library  was  to 
be  cleaned  and  cared  for  in  a  way  to  distress  any  man-minded 
man,  while  Leila  looked  on.  Had  her  aunt's  recent  look 
of  ill-health  represented  nothing  but  the  depressing  influence 
of  a  year  of  anxiety?  And,  if  so,  why  under  the  distress  of  a 
nearer  and  more  material  disaster  should  she  grow  so  quickly 
active,  and  apparently  strong  in  place  of  becoming  more  feeble. 
She  followed  her  aunt  about  the  house  trying  to  be  helpful, 
and  a  little  amused  at  her  return  to  some  of  the  ways  which 
at  times  annoyed  Penhallow  into  positive  revolt.  As  she 
thought  of  it,  Ann  was  standing  over  a  battered  army-chest,  open 
and  half  full  of  well-worn  cavalry  uniforms. 

"  Eeally,  Leila,"  she  said,  "  these  old  army  clothes  had  better 
be  disposed  of  —  and  that  shabby  smoking- jacket  —  I  have  not 
seen  it  for  years.  Why  do  men  keep  their  useless,  shabby 
clothes?" 

"  I  think  Uncle  Jim  would  n't  like  those  old  army  uniforms 
given  away,  aunt;  and  don't  you  remember  how  he  looked  like 
an  old  Van  Dyke  portrait  in  that  lovely  brown  velvet  jacket?" 

Ann,  standing  with  the  much  used  garment  in  her  hand,  let  it 
drop  into  the  chest,  saying,  "  I  really  cannot  see  the  use  of 
keeping  things  as  men  love  to  do  — " 

"  And  women  never ! "  cried  Leila,  closing  the  lid  of  the  box, 
and  remarking  that  he  would  like  to  find  things  as  he  left 
them;  and  had  Aunt  Ann  noticed  that  there  were  moths  about 
the  bear  skins.  Now  a  moth  has  the  power  of  singularly  ex 
citing  some  women  —  the  diversion  proved  effectual. 


WESTWAYS  389 

And  still  as  the  week  went  by  Ann  seemed  to  be  gaining  in 
strength. 

At  lunch,  a  telegram  from  Charles  Grey,  Baltimore,  said, 
"  Penhallow  here,  doing  well.  "Will  return  on  the  14th,  by 
afternoon  train,  with  Eivers  and  servant." 

"  Read  that,  dear  —  I  want  you,  Leila,  to  ride  to  the  mills 
and  tell  Dr.  McGregor  that  I  will  send  the  carriage  for  him 
in  time  for  him  to  meet  your  uncle  at  the  station.  I  had  better 
not  meet  him  —  and  there  will  be  Mark  Eivers  and  Josiah  and 
—  but  you  will  see  to  all  that/' 

"  Certainly,  aunt." 

"  It  will  be  the  day  after  to-morrow.  Be  sure  that  the  doc 
tor  makes  no  mistake.  There  are  two  trains  —  he  will  be  on 
the  four  o'clock  express."  This  was  in  the  manner  of  her  Aunt 
Ann  of  former  days.  "  Shall  I  write  it  down  ?  " 

Leila  cried,  "  No,"  and  fled,  laughing. 

The  next  day  to  Leila's  surprise  and  pleasure  her  aunt  came 
down  to  breakfast  and  quietly  took  her  place  as  mistress  of  the 
tea-urn.  The  talent  of  common  sense  as  applicable  to  the  lesser 
social  commerce  of  life  was  one  of  Leila's  gifts,  and  she  made 
no  comment  on  her  aunt's  amazing  resumption  of  her  old  hab 
its.  Ann  herself  felt  some  inclination  to  explain  her  rapid 
recovery  of  health,  and  said  as  she  took  the  long-vacant  seat 
at  the  breakfast  table,  "  I  think,  Leila,  the  doctor's  last  tonic 
has  been  of  use  to  me  —  I  feel  quite  like  myself."  Having  thus 
anticipated  her  too  sharp-eyed  niece's  congratulations,  Leila's 
expression  of  pleasure  came  in  accordant  place.  Whereupon 
they  both  smiled  across  the  table,  having  that  delicate  appre 
ciation  of  the  needs  of  the  situation  which  is  rarely  at  the  serv 
ice  of  the  blundering  mind  of  man. 

The  moment  of  gentle  hypocrisy  passed,  the  mistress  of  Grey 
Pine  took  up  her  memoranda  for  the  day,  and  said  with  some 
attempt  at  being  just  her  usual  self,  "  I  shall  walk  to  Westways 


390  WESTWAYS 

after  breakfast  —  Pole  needs  to  be  talked  to.  The  meats  have 
been  of  his  worst  lately/'  Then  with  a  glance  at  the  paper, 
"Your  uncle's  books  must  be  dusted;  I  quite  forgot  it;  I  will 
set  Susan  to  work  this  morning." 

"  But,"  said  Leila,  "  he  does  hate  that,  Aunt  Ann.  The  last 
time  she  succeeded  in  setting  together  e  Don  Juan '  and  '  St. 
Thomas  a  Kempis."' 

Ann  laughed,  and  said  with  some  of  her  old  sense  of  humour, 
"  It  might  do  them  both  good  —  dust  them  yourself." 

"  I  will,"  said  Leila,  liking  the  task. 

"  And  when  you  ride  this  afternoon,  see  Mrs.  Lamb.  The 
cook  tells  me  that  she  hears  of  that  scamp,  her  son,  as  in  the 
army  —  a  nice  kind  of  soldier."  A  half-dozen  other  errands 
were  mentioned,  and  they  parted,  Ann  adding,  "  There  is  no 
mail  to-day." 

They  met  again  at  lunch.  "  It  is  too  bad,  Leila,  Billy  was 
given  the  letters  and  forgot  them  and  went  a-fishing.  There 
was  a  letter  for  you  from  Mark  Kivers  about  your  uncle.  Does 
he  think  me  a  child?  I  read  it." 

"You  read  it,  Aunt ! "  exclaimed  Leila  astonished  at  this 
infraction  of  their  household  law. 

"  Of  course  I  read  it.  I  knew  it  must  be  about  James." 
Leila  made  no  reply,  but  did  not  like  it. 

"'Here  it  is,  my  dear.  I  fear  James  is  in  a  more  serious 
state  than  I  was  led  to  believe  by  their  first  letters.  There  is 
also  a  letter  from  John  to  you."  She  did  not  ask  to  see  it,  and 
Leila  took  both  missives  and  presently  went  away  to  the  stables. 
Even  John,  as  was  plain,  was  forgotten  in  her  aunt's  anxiety 
in  regard  to  her  husband. 

Her  many  errands  over,  Leila  riding  slowly  through  the 
lonely  wood-roads  read  the  letters: 

"Mr  DEAR  LEILA/'  wrote  Eivers,  "you  had  better  let  your 
aunt  know  that  the  Colonel's  wound  must  have  so  shocked  the 


WESTWAYS  391 

brain,  though  there  is  no  fracture,  as  to  have  left  him  in  a 
mental  state  which  gives  me  the  utmost  anxiety.  You  will 
sadly  realize  my  meaning  when  you  see  him.  Be  careful  how 
you  tell  your  aunt. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  MARK  KIVERS." 

Here  indeed  was  trouble.  Leila's  eyes  filled  and  tears  fell 
on  the  paper.  She  rode  on  deep  in  thought,  and  at  last  securing 
the  message  of  calamity  in  her  belt  opened  John's  letter. 

"  I  write  you,  dear  Leila,  from  my  tent  near  Vicksburg,  this 
5th  of  July.  The  prisoners  from  Pemberton's  army  are  passing 
as  I  write.  Our  men  are  giving  them  bread  and  tobacco,  and 
there  is  no  least  sign  of  enmity  or  triumph.  I  am  pretty  well 
worn  out,  as  the  few  engineers  have  been  worked  hard  and  the 
constant  nearness  of  death  in  the  trenches  within  five  to  one 
hundred  feet  of  the  Eebel  lines  was  a  situation  to  make  a  man 
think  —  not  of  course  while  in  immediate  danger,  but  after 
wards.  I  had  some  narrow  escapes  —  we  all  had.  But,  dear 
Leila,  it  has  been  a  splendid  thing  to  see  how  this  man  Grant, 
with  the  expressionless  face,  struck  swiftly  one  army  after  an 
other  and  returned  to  secure  his  prey. 

"  I  cannot  even  now  get  a  leave  of  absence,  and  I  am  beyond 
words  anxious  to  hear  about  dear  Uncle  Jim.  Just  a  line  from 
him  makes  me  think  he  was  to  be  with  General  Meade  and  in 
that  gjgeat  battle  we  won.  A  telegram  to  the  Engineers'  Camp, 
Vicksburg,  will  relieve  me. 

"  It  is  unlikely,  if  we  go  South,  that  I  shall  see  you  for 
many  a  day.  All  leaves  are,  I  find,  denied.  War  —  intense 
war  like  this  —  seems  to  me  to  change  men  in  wonderful  ways. 
It  makes  some  men  bad  or  reckless  or  drunkards  or  hard  and 
cruel;  it  makes  others  thoughtful,  dutiful  and  religious.  This 
is  more  often  the  case  among  the  men  than  you  may  think  it 


392  WESTWAYS 

would  be.  Certainly  it  does  age  a  fellow  fast.  I  seem  to  have 
passed  many  years  since  I  sat  with  you  at  West  Point  and  you 
made  me  feel  how  young  I  was  and  how  little  I  had  seen  of  life. 
It  was  true,  but  now  I  have  seen  life  at  its  worst  and  its  best. 
I  have  had  too  the  education  of  battle,  the  lessons  read  by 
thousands  of  deaths  and  all  the  many  temptations  of  camp  life. 
I  believe,  and  I  can  say  it  to  you,  I  am  the  better  for  it  all,  and 
think  less  and  less  of  the  man  who  was  fool  enough  to  do  what 
with  more  humility  he  will  surely  do  once  more,  if  it  please 
God  that  he  come  out  of  this  terrible  war  alive. 

"  When  you  see  me  again,  you  will  at  least  respect  my  years, 
for  one  lives  fast  here,  and  the  months  seem  years  and  the  family 
Bible  a  vain  record,  as  I  remember  that  the  statement  of  births 
comes  after  the  Apocrypha  which  leaves  room  for  doubt/' — 

Leila  smiled.     "How  like  him,"  she  murmured. 

"I  said  months.  There  are  (there  were  once  last  week) 
minutes  when  one  felt  an  insolent  contempt  of  death,  although 
the  bullets  were  singing  by  like  our  brave  hornets.  Is  that 
courage?  I  used  as  a  boy  to  wonder  how  I  would  feel  in  dan 
ger.  Don't  tell,  but  on  going  under  fire  I  shiver,  and  then  am 
at  once  in  quiet  possession  of  all  my  capacities,  whatever  they 
be  worth.  A  man  drops  by  my  side  —  and  I  am  surprised ;  then 
another  —  and  I  am  sure  I  won't  be  hit.  But  I  was  three 
weeks  ago  in  my  leg!  It  made  me  furious,  and  I  still  limp  a 
bit.  It  was  only  a  nip  —  a  spent  bullet.  I  wanted  tojjsjet  at 
that  anonymous  rascal  who  did  it. 

"  Do  wire  me,  and  write  fully. 

"Yours, 
"  JOHN. 

"P.S.  I  wonder  where  Tom  'McGregor  is,  and  Pole's  boy 
and  Joe  Grace,  and  those  Greys  who  went  diverse  ways.  As  you 
never  talk  of  yourself  when  you  write  those  brief  letters  on 


WESTWAYS  393 

notepaper  the  size  of  a  postage  stamp,  you  might  at  least  tell 
me  all  about  these  good  people  in  Westways." 

She  telegraphed  him,  "Uncle  Jim  slightly  wounded,  is  com 
ing  home.  Will  write.  Leila  Grey." 

About  four  in  the  afternoon  of  this  July  14th  Ann  Penhallow 
kissed  her  husband  as  he  came  up  the  porch  steps.  He  was 
leaning  heavily  on  Mark  Eivers's  arm.  He  said,  "  It  is  quite  a 
long  time,  Ann.  How  long  is  it  ?  "  Then  he  shook  off  Kivers, 
saying,  "  I  am  quite  well,"  and  going  by  his  wife  went  through 
the  open  door,  moving  like  one  dazed.  He  stood  still  a  mo 
ment  looking  about  him,  turned  back  and  speaking  to  his  wife 
said,  "  I  understand  now.  At  first  it  seemed  strange  to  me  and 
as  if  I  had  never  been  here  before.  Ever  feel  that  way,  Ann  ?  " 

"  Oh,  often,  James."  No  signal  of  her  anguish  showed  on 
the  gallantly  carried  face  of  the  little  woman. 

"  Quiet,  is  n't  it  ?  When  was  it  I  was  hit  ?  It  was  —  was  n't 
it  in  May?  Eivers  says  it  was  July  —  I  do  not  like  contra 
diction."  His  appreciation  of  time  and  recognition  of  locality 
were  alike  disordered,  as  Eivers  had  observed  with  distress  and 
a  too  constant  desire  to  set  him  right.  With  better  appreciation 
of  his  condition,  Ann  accepted  his  statement. 

"  Yes  —  yes,  of  course,  dear  —  it  is  just  so." 

"I  knew  you  would  understand  me.  I  should  like  to  go  to 
bed  —  I  want  Josiah  —  no  one  else." 

"  Yes,  dear,"  and  this  above  all  else  made  clear  to  the  unhappy 
little  frdy  how  far  was  the  sturdy  soldier  who  had  left  her 
from  the  broken  man  in  undress  uniform  who  clung  to  the  rail, 
as  he  went  slowly  up  the  stairway  with  his  servant.  In  the  hall 
he  had  seen  Leila,  but  gave  her  no  word,  not  even  his  habitual 
smile  of  recognition. 

Ann  stared  after  them  a  moment,  motioned  Eivers  away  with 
uplifted  hand,  and  hastening  into  the  library  sat  down  and 
wept  like  a  child.  She  had  been  unprepared  for  the  change  in 


394  WESTWAYS 

his  appearance  and  ways.  More  closely  observant,  Leila  saw 
that  the  lines  of  decisiveness  were  gone,  the  humorous  circles 
about  the  mouth  and  eyes,  as  it  were,  flattened  out,  and  that 
the  whole  face,  with  the  lips  a  little  languidly  parted,  had  be 
come  expressionless.  It  was  many  days  before  she  could  see  the 
altered  visage  without  emotion,  or  talk  of  him  to  her  aunt  with 
any  of  the  amazing  hopefulness  with  which  the  older  woman 
dwelt  on  her  husband's  intervals  of  resemblance  to  his  former 
self. 

He  would  not  ride  or  enter  the  stables,  but  his  life  was  other 
wise  a  childlike  resumption  of  his  ordinary  habits,  except  that 
when  annoyed  by  Ann's  too  obvious  anxiety  or  excess  of  care 
fulness,  he  became  irritable  at  times  and  even  violent  in  lan 
guage.  He  so  plainly  preferred  Leila's  company  in  his  short 
walks  as  to  make  the  wife  jealous  and  vexed  that  she  was  not 
wanted  during  every  minute  of  his  altered  life.  He  read  no 
books  as  of  old,  but  would  have  Leila  read  to  him  the  war  news 
until  he  fell  asleep,  when  she  quietly  slipped  away. 

Mark  Eivers  resumed  his  duties  for  a  time,  unwilling  to 
abandon  these  dear  friends  for  whom  McGregor,  puzzled  and 
perplexed,  had  no  word  of  consolation,  except  the  assurance  that 
his  condition  did  not  grow  worse. 

At  times  Penhallow  was  dimly  aware  of  his  state;  at  others 
he  resented  any  effort  to  control  him  and  was  so  angry  when 
the  doctor  proposed  a  consultation  that  the  idea  was  too  easily 
given  up,  for  always  in  this  as  in  everything  his  wife  agreed 
with  him  and  indulged  him  as  women  indulge  a  sick  child;1  The 
village  grieved  for  the  Colonel  who  rode  no  more  through  West- 
ways  with  a  gay  word  of  greeting  for  all  he  met.  The  iron- 
mills  were  busy.  The  great  guns  tested  on  the  meadows  now 
and  then  shook  the  panes  in  the  western  windows  of  Grey  Pine. 
They  no  longer  disturbed  Ann  Penhallow.  The  war  went  its 
thunderous  way  unheeded  by  her.  Unendingly  hopeful,  the  op 
pression  of  disaster  seemed  only  to  confirm  and  strengthen  her 


WESTWAYS  395 

finest  qualities.  Like  the  pine-tree  winning  vigour  from  its 
rock-clasped  roots,  she  gathered  such  hardening  strength  of 
soul  and  body  from  his  condition  as  the  more  happy  years  had 
never  put  at  her  command. 

"  No  letters  to-day,  Miss  Leila,"  said  the  post-mistress  stand 
ing  beside  the  younger  woman's  horse.  "  Just  only  them  papers 
with  their  lists  of  killed  and  wounded." 

"I  must  always  be  Leila,  not  Miss  Leila,"  said  the  horse 
woman. 

«  Well  —  well  —  I  like  that  better.     How 's  the  Colonel  ?  " 

"  Much  the  same  —  certainly  no  worse.  It  is  wonderful  how 
my  aunt  stands  it." 

*•  Don't  you  notice,  Leila,  how  she  has  kind  of  softened  ?  Me 
and  Joe  was  talking  of  it  yesterday.  She  always  was  good,  but 
folks  did  use  to  say  she  was  sort  of  hard  and  —  positive.  Now, 
she 's  kind  of  gentled  —  noticed  that  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  have  noticed  it;  but  I  must  go.  Give  me  the  pa 
pers.  You  love  a  talk." 

"There's  no  news  of  John?" 

"  None  of  late.  He  is  with  General  Grant  —  but  where  we 
do  not  know." 

"It's  right  pleasant  to  have  Josiah  back.  Lord!  but  he's 
strong  on  war  stories  —  ought  to  hear  him.  He  was  always 
good  at  stories." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so.     Good-bye." 

James  Penhallow  sat  on  the  back  porch  in  the  after  luncheon 
hour  to  get  with  the  freshness  of  October  what  sunshine  the 
westerning  sun  was  sifting  through  the  red  and  gold  of  the 
maples  beyond  the  garden  walls.  He  was  in  the  undress  uni 
form  of  the  artillery,  and  still  wore  the  trefoil  of  the  Second 
Corps.  An  effort  by  Ann  to  remove  his  soiled  army  garb  and 
substitute  his  lay  dress  caused  an  outbreak  of  anger  which  left 
him  speechless  and  feeble,  and  her  in  an  agony  of  regretful 
penitence.  Josiah,  wiser  than  she,  ventured  to  tell  her  what 


396  WESTWAYS 

had  happened  once  before  when  his  badge  of  the  glorious  Sec 
ond  Corps  had  been  missing.  "  After  all,  what  does  it  mat 
ter  ? "  she  said  to  herself,  and  made  no  effort  to  repair  the 
ragged  bullet  tear  South  Mountain  left  in  his  jacket,  and  in 
which  he  had  at  his  worst  times  such  childlike  pride  as  in 
another  and  well-known  general  had  once  amused  him. 

He  was  just  now  in  one  of  his  best  conditions  and  was  clearly 
enjoying  the  pipe  he  used  but  rarely.  Ann  at  his  feet  on  the 
porch-step  read  aloud  to  him  with  indifference  to  all  but  the  man 
she  now  and  then  looked  up  to  with  the  loving  tenderness  his 
brief  betterment  fed  with  illusory  hope. 

"  What 's  that,  Ann?  "  he  exclaimed;  "  Grant  at  Chattanooga! 
That's  John's  ideal  General.  Didn't  he  write  about  him  at 
—  where  was  it?  Oh!  Belmont." 

"Yes,  after  Belmont,  James." 

"  When  does  Mark  Eivers  go  back  ?  " 

"  To-morrow.  He  is  always  so  out  of  spirits  here  that  I  am 
really  relieved  when  he  returns  to  the  Sanitary  Commission." 
He  made  no  reply,  and  she  continued  her  reading. 

"Isn't  that  Leila  with  Rivers,  Ann?" 

"  Yes.     He  likes  to  walk  with  her." 

"  So  would  any  man."  A  faint  smile  —  very  rare  of  late  — 
showed  in  her  pleased  upward  look  at  the  face  —  the  changed 
face  —  she  loved. 

The  pair  of  whom  they  spoke  were  lost  to  view  in  the  forest. 

"  And  you  are  glad  to  go  ?  "  said  Leila  to  Eivers. 

"  Yes,  I  am.  I  can  hardly  say  glad,  but  now  that  your  uncle 
is,  so  to  speak,  lost  to  me  and  your  aunt  absorbed  in  her  one 
task  and  the  duties  she  has  taken  up  again,  our  pleasant  Dante 
lessons  are  set  aside,  and  what  is  there  left  of  the  old  intellectual 
life  which  is  gone  —  gone  ?  " 

"  But,"  said  Leila  gaily,  "  you  have  the  church  and  my  hum 
ble  society.  Why,  you  are  really  learning  to  walk,  as  you  did 
not  until  of  late." 


WESTWAYS  397 

Making  no  reply  to  her  personal  remark,  he  was  silent  for  a 
moment,  and  then  said  with  slow  articulation  and  to  her  sur 
prise,  for  he  rarely  spoke  of  himself,  "  Nine  years  ago  I  came 
here,  a  man  broken  in  mind  and  body.  This  life  and  these 
dear  friends  have  made  me  as  strong  as  I  can  ever  hope  to  be. 
But  the  rest  —  the  rest.  I  know  what  power  God  has  given  me 
to  bring  souls  to  him.  I  can  influence  men  —  the  lowly  and  — 
well,  others,  as  few  can.  I  cannot  live  in  cities  —  I  dare  not 
risk  the  failure  in  health;  and  yet,  I  want — I  want  a  larger 
field.  I  found  it  when  your  aunt's  liberality  sent  me  to  the 
army.  There  in  my  poor  way  I  can  serve  my  country  —  and 
that  is  much  to  me."  He  was  silent. 

"But,"  she  said,  "is  there  not  work  enough  here?  and  the 
war  cannot  last  much  longer.  Don't  think  you  must  ever 
leave  us." 

"  I  shall  —  I  must.  There  are  limitations  I  cannot  talk  of 
even  —  above  all  to  you.  Your  aunt  knows  this  —  and  your 
uncle  did  —  long  ago." 

"What  limitations?"  she  asked  rashly. 

"  You  are  the  last  person,  Leila  Grey,  to  whom  I  could  speak 
of  them.  I  have  said  too  much,  but " —  and  he  paused  — "  I 
am  tired  —  I  will  leave  you  to  finish  your  walk."  The  great 
beautiful  eyes  turned  on  him  for  a  moment.  "  Oh,  my  God !  " 
he  exclaimed,  and  reproaching  his  brief  human  weakness  left 
her  abruptly,  walking  slowly  away  through  the  drifting  red  and 
gold  of  leaves  rocking  in  air  as  they  sauntered  to  earth,  and 
was  at  last  lost  to  view  in  the  woodland. 

Leila  stood  still,  puzzled  and  sorrowful,  as  she  watched  the 
tall  stooping  form.  "  How  old  he  looks,"  she  murmured. 
"What  did  he  mean?  I  must  ask  Aunt  Ann."  But  she  never 
did,  feeling  that  what  he  had  said  was  something  like  a  cau 
tiously  hinted  confession.  In  the  early  morning  he  was  gone 
again  to  the  field  of  war. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THROUGH  the  winter  of  1863-4  at  Grey  Pine  things  re 
mained  unaltered,  and  McGregor  concluded  that  there  was 
no  hope  for  happier  change.  Rare  letters  came  from  John  Pen- 
hallow  to  his  aunt,  who  sent  no  replies,  and  to  Leila,  who  wrote 
impersonal  letters,  as  did  John.  Once  he  wrote  that  his  uncle 
might  like  to  know,  that  after  that  pontoon  business  in  the  night 
at  Chattanooga  and  General  Farrar  Smith's  brilliant  action,  he, 
John  Penhallow,  was  to  be  addressed  as  Captain.  As  the  war 
went  on,  he  was  across  the  Rapidan  with  Grant  in  May. 

At  Grey  Pine  after  breakfast  the  windows  and  both  doors 
of  the  hall  were  open  to  let  the  western  breezes  enter.  They 
lingered  in  the  garden  to  stir  the  mothers  of  unborn  flowers 
and  swept  through  the  hall,  bearing  as  they  passed  some  gentle 
intimation  of  the  ending  of  a  cold  spring. 

The  mail  had  been  given  to  the  colonel,  as  he  insisted  it 
should  be.  With  some  appearance  of  interest  he  said,  "  From 
Mark,  for  you,  Ann." 

"  None  for  me,  Uncle  ?  "  asked  Leila,  as  she  went  around  the 
table.  "  Let  me  help  you.  How  many  there  are."  She  cap 
tured  her  own  share,  and  for  a  moment  stood  curious  as  she 
sorted  the  mail.  "  Army  trash,  Uncle !  What  a  lot  of  paper 
is  needed  to  carry  on  war !  Here  is  one  —  I  have  seen  him 
before  —  he  is  marked  { Respectfully  referred/  " 

The  colonel  released  a  smile,  which  stirred  Ann  like  a  pleas 
ant  memory,  and  fed  one  of  the  little  hopes  she  was  ever  on  the 
watch  to  find.  "  What  is  your  letter,  Ann  ?  "  he  asked. 

Looking  up  she  replied,  "  It  is  only  to  acknowledge  receipt 
of  my  draft.  He  is  in  Washington.  I  gather  that  he  does  not 
mean  to  come  back  until  the  war  is  over."  "  Over ! "  she 

398 


WESTWAYS  399 

thought ;  "  Lee  is  not  Pemberton,  as  Grant  will  learn."  It  was 
of  more  moment  to  her  that  Penhallow  was  easier  to  interest, 
and  ate  as  he  used  to  do. 

"Is  your  letter  from  John,  Leila?"  he  said.  "1  don't  like 
concealments." 

"  But,  I  did  n't  conceal  anything !  " 

"  Don't  contradict  me !  " 

"No,  sir." 

Ann's  face  grew  watchful,  fearing  one  of  the  outbreaks  which 
left  him  weak  and  querulous. 

"Well,"  said  the  colonel,  "read  us  John's  letter.  There 
is  as  much  fuss  about  it  as  if  it  were  a  love-letter." 

There  is  no  way  as  yet  discovered  to  victoriously  suppress  a 
blush,  but  time  —  a  little  fraction  of  time  —  is  helpful,  and 
there  are  ways  of  hiding  what  cannot  be  conquered.  The  letter 
fell  on  the  floor,  and  being  recovered  was  opened  and  read  with 
a  certain  something  in  the  voice  which  caused  Ann  critically  to 
use  her  eyes. 

"  DEAR  LEILA  :  I  am  just  now  with  the  Second  Corps,  but 
where  you  will  know  in  a  week;  now  I  must  not  say. — " 

"What's  the  date?"  asked  Penhallow. 

"There  is  none." 

"Look  at  the  envelope." 

"  I  tore  it  up,  sir." 

"  Never  throw  away  an  envelope  until  you  have  read  the  let 
ter."  Ann  looked  pleased  —  that  was  James  Penhallow,  his  old 
self.  Leila  read  on. 

"I  am  glad  to  be  under  canvas,  and  you  know  my  faith  in 
General  Grant. 

"  Tell  Aunt  Ann  I  have  had  three  servants  in  two  weeks. 
These  newly  freed  blacks  are  like  mere  children  and  quite  use- 


400  WESTWAYS 

less,  or  else  —  well  —  one  was  brutal  to  my  horse.     I  sometimes 
wish  Josiah  was  twins  and  I  had  one  of  him. — " 

"What's  that?"  asked  Penhallow.  "Twins  — I  don't  un 
derstand." 

"  He  wishes  he  had  a  servant  like  Josiah,  Uncle/' 

"  Well,  let  him  go  to  John,"  said  the  Colonel,  with  something 
of  his  old  positive  manner. 

"  But  you  would  miss  him,  James." 

"  I  will  not,"  he  returned,  and  then  — "  What  else  is  there  ?  " 

"  Oh  —  nothing  —  except  that  he  will  write  again  soon,  and 
that  he  met  Mr.  Elvers  in  Washington.  That  is  all  —  a  very 
unsatisfactory  letter." 

For  a  day  or  two  the  colonel  said  no  more  of  Josiah,  and 
then  asked  if  he  had  gone,  and  was  so  obviously  annoyed  that 
Ann  gave  way  as  usual  and  talked  of  her  husband's  wish  to 
Josiah.  The  old  life  of  Westways  and  Grey  Pine  was  over,  and 
Josiah  was  allowed  by  Ann  to  do  so  little  for  Penhallow  that 
the  black  was  not  ill-pleased  to  leave  home  again  for  the  army 
life  and  to  be  with  the  man  whom  as  a  lad  he  had  trusted  and 
who  had  helped  him  in  a  day  of  peril. 

No  one  thought  of  any  need  for  a  pass.  He  was  amply  sup 
plied  with  money  and  bade  them  good-bye.  He  put  what  he 
required  in  a  knapsack,  and  leaving  Westways  for  the  second 
time  and  with  a  lighter  heart,  set  off  afoot  to  catch  the  train 
at  Westways  Crossing.  The  old  slave  was  thus  put  upon  a  way 
which  was  to  lead  to  renewed  and  unpleasant  acquaintance 
with  one  of  the  minor  characters  of  my  story. 

Tired  of  unaccustomed  idleness  Josiah  grinned  as  he  went 
across  country  thinking  of  the  directions  he  had  received  from 
Leila  of  how  he  was  to  find  John  Penhallow. 

"You  know  he  is  captain  of  engineers,  Josiah.  Now  how 
are  you  going  to  find  him?  An  army  is  as  big  as  a  great  city, 
and  in  motion  too." 


WESTWAYS  401 

"Well,  missy,"  said  Josiah,  "the  way  I'll  find  him  is  the 
way  dog  Caesar  finds  you  in  the  woods."  He  would  hear  no 
more  and  left  her. 

Josiah  knew  many  people  in  Washington,  black  and  white, 
and  after  some  disappointments  went  with  a  lot  of  remounts 
for  cavalry  to  join  the  army  in  the  Wilderness,  where  he  served 
variously  with  the  army  teams.  On  an  afternoon  late  in  May, 
1864,  he  strode  on,  passing  by  the  long  lines  of  marching  men 
who  filled  the  roadways  on  their  way  to  the  crossing  of  the 
North  Anna  Eiver.  He  had  been  chaffed,  misdirected,  laughed 
at  or  civilly  treated,  as  he  questioned  men  about  the  engineers. 
He  took  it  all  with  good-humour.  About  three,  he  came  near 
to  a  house  on  the  wayside,  where  a  halt  had  been  ordered  to 
give  the  men  a  brief  rest.  The  soldiers  dust-grey  and  thirsty 
scattered  over  the  clearing  or  lay  in  the  shadow  of  the  scrub 
oaks.  Some  thronged  about  a  well  or  a  wayside  spring,  or 
draining  their  canteens  caught  a  brief  joy  from  the  lighted 
pipe  so  dear  to  the  soldier.  Josiah  looked  about  him,  and  knew 
the  log-cabins  some  distance  away  from  the  better  house  to 
have  been  the  slave-quarters.  Beyond  them  was  a  better  built 
log-house.  Apparently  all  were  deserted  —  men,  cattle  and 
horses,  were  gone.  He  lay  down  a  little  way  from  the  road  and 
listened  to  the  talk  of  the  men  seated  in  front  of  him.  He 
heard  a  private  say,  "  A  halt  is  as  bad  as  a  march,  the  dust  is 
a  foot  deep,  and  what  between  flies  and  mosquitoes,  they're  as 
bad  as  the  Kebs." 

"  Ah ! "  said  an  old  corporal,  "  just  you  wait  a  bit.  These 
are  only  a  skirmish  line.  July  and  Chickahominy  mosquitoes 
will  get  you  when  your  baccy 's  out." 

"  It  ?s  out  now." 

Josiah  was  eager  to  question  some  one  and  was  aware  of 
the  value  of  tobacco  as  a  social  solvent.  He  said,  "  I  've  got 
some  baccy,  corporal." 

The  men  in  front  of  him  turned.     "  For  sale  —  how  much  ?  " 


402  WESTWAYS 

"  No,"  said  Josiah.     "  My  pouch  is  full.     Help  yourselves." 

This  liberal  contribution  was  warmly  appreciated,  and  the 
private,  who  was  the  son  of  a  New  York  banker,  interested  in 
the  black  man,  asked,  "  What  are  you  doing  in  this  big  cir 
cus  ?  "  It  was  the  opening  for  which  Josiah  waited. 

"Looking  for  an  engineer-captain." 

The  corporal  said,  "  Well,  like  enough  he  ?11  be  at  the  bridge 
of  the  North  Anna  —  but  the  engineers  are  here,  there  and 
anywhere.  What  is  his  name?" 

"  Thank  you,  sir.     My  master  is  Captain  Penhallow." 

"  Well,  good  luck  to  you." 

"Take  another  pipe  load,"  returned  Josiah,  grateful  for  the 
unusual  interest. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  private,  "  with  pleasure.  Tobacco  is 
as  scarce  as  hen's  teeth." 

"That's  so.  Who's  that  officer  on  the  big  horse?  He's  a 
rider  whoever  he  is." 

"  That 's  the  ring-master  of  this  show,"  laughed  the  private. 

"Not  General  Grant!" 

"  Yes."     Josiah  considered  him  with  interest. 

There  was  of  a  sudden  some  disturbance  about  the  larger  of 
the  more  remote  cabins ;  a  soldier  ran  out  followed  by  a  scream 
ing  young  woman.  Her  wild  cries  attracted  attention  to  the 
man,  who  was  at  once  caught  and  held  while  he  vainly  pro 
tested.  The  men  about  Josiah  sat  up  or  got  on  their  feet.  The 
young  woman  ran  here  and  there  among  the  groups  of  soldiers 
like  one  distracted.  At  last,  near  the  larger  house  at  the  road 
side  she  fell  on  her  knees  and  rocked  backwards  and  forwards 
sobbing.  Josiah  at  a  distance  saw  only  that  a  soldier  had  been 
caught  trying  to  escape  notice  as  a  young  woman  followed  him 
out  of  the  house.  It  was  too  well  understood  by  the  angry  men 
who  crowded  around  the  captive. 

The  general  said  to  his  staff,  "Wait  here,  gentlemen."  He 
rode  through  the  crowd  of  soldiers,  saying,  "  Keep  back,  my 


WESTWAYS  403 

men;  keep  away  —  all  of  you."  Then  he  dismounted  and 
walked  to  where  the  girl  —  she  was  hardly  more  —  still  knelt 
wailing  and  beating  the  air  with  uplifted  hands.  "  Stand  up, 
my  good  girl,  and  tell  me  what  is  wrong." 

The  voice  was  low  and  of  a  certain  gentleness,  rarely  rising 
even  in  moments  of  peril.  She  stood  up,  "  I  can't  —  I  can't  — 
let  me  go  —  I  want  to  die !  " 

The  figure,  still  slight  of  build  in  those  days,  bent  over  her 
pitiful.  "  I  am  General  Grant.  Look  up  at  me.  There  shall 
be  justice  done,  but  I  must  know." 

She  looked  up  a  moment  at  the  kind  grave  face,  then  with 
bent  head  and  hands  over  her  eyes  she  sobbed  out  what  none 
but  the  general  could  hear.  His  voice  grew  even  more  dis 
tinctly  soft  as  touching  her  shoulder  he  said,  "  Look  at  that 
man.  Oh,  bring  him  near  —  nearer.  Now,  be  sure,  is  that  the 
man?  Look  again!  I  must  be  certain." 

With  a  quick  motion  she  pushed  his  hand  from  her  shoulder 
as  she  stood,  and  pointing  to  the  brute  held  by  two  soldiers 
cried,  "  That 's  him  —  oh,  my  God !  Take  him  away  —  kill 
him.  Le'  me  go.  Don't  you  keep  me."  She  looked  about  like 
some  hopelessly  trapped,  wild-eyed  animal. 

"  You  may  go,  of  course,"  said  the  low-voiced  man.  "  I  will 
set  a  guard  over  your  house." 

"  Don't  want  no  Yankee  guard  —  le'  me  go  —  I  've  got 
nothin'  to  guard  —  I  want  to  die."  She  darted  away  and 
through  the  parting  groups  of  men  who  were  clear  enough  about 
what  they  knew  had  happened  and  what  should  be  done. 

The  dark  grey  eyes  of  the  General  followed  her  flight  for  a 
pitying  instant.  Then  he  remounted,  and  said  to  the  scared 
captive,  "  What  have  you  got  to  say  ?  " 

"  It 's  all  a  lie." 

The  general's  face  grew  stern.  He  turned  and  asked  for  an 
officer  of  the  Provost  Guard.  A  captain  rode  up  and  saluted. 
"  I  have  no  time  to  lose  in  trying  this  scoundrel.  We  can't  take 


404  WESTWAYS 

along  the  only  witness."  He  hesitated  a  moment.  "  Let  your 
men  tie  him  to  a  tree  near  the  road.  Let  two  of  the  guard 
watch  him  until  the  rear  has  gone  by.  Put  a  paper  on  his 
breast  —  make  his  crime  clear,  clear."  He  said  a  word  or  two 
more  to  the  officer,  and  then  "  put  on  it,  '  Left  to  the  justice 
of  General  Lee."' 

"  Is  that  all,  sir  ?  "  said  the  amazed  officer. 

« No  —  put  below,  fU.  S.  Grant/  The  girl  will  tell  her 
story.  When  the  cavalry  pass,  leave  him.  Now,  gentlemen,  the 
men  have  had  a  rest,  let  us  ride  on." 

Josiah  a  hundred  feet  away  heard,  "  Fall  in  —  fall  in."  The 
tired  soldiers  rose  reluctant  and  the  long  line  tramped  away. 
Josiah  interested  sat  still  and  saw  them  go  by  under  the  dust- 
laden  air.  The  girl  had  gone  past  her  home  and  into  the  woods. 
The  guards  curiously  watched  by  the  marching  men  passed 
near  Josiah  with  their  prisoner  and  busied  themselves  with 
looking  among  the  hazel,  scrub  oak  and  sassafras  for  a  large 
enough  tree  near  to  the  road.  As  they  went  by,  he  saw  the 
man. 

"  My  God !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  it  ?s  Peter  Lamb."  He  moved 
away  and  lay  down  well  hidden  in  the  brush.  It  was  a  very 
simple  mind  which  considered  this  meeting  with  the  only  being 
the  black  man  hated.  The  unusual  never  appealed  to  him  as 
it  would  have  done  to  a  more  imaginative  person.  The  coming 
thus  on  his  enemy  was  only  what  he  had  angrily  predicted  when 
he  had  Peter  in  his  power  and  had  said  to  him  that  some  day 
God  would  punish  him.  It  had  come  true. 

The  men  who  had  arrested  Peter  and  were  near  enough  to 
hear  the  brief  sentence,  understood  it,  and  being  eagerly  ques 
tioned  soon  spread  among  the  moving  ranks  the  story  of  the 
crime  and  this  unexampled  punishment.  It  was  plain  to  Jo 
siah,  but  what  was  to  follow  he  did  not  know,  as  he  rose,  lin 
gered  about,  and  following  the  Provost's  party  considered  the 
wonderful  fact  of  his  fulfilled  prediction.  The  coincidence  of 


WESTWAYS  405 

being  himself  present  did  not  cause  the  surprise  which  what 
we  call  coincidences  awaken  in  minds  which  crave  explanations 
of  the  uncommon.  It  was  just  what  was  sure  to  happen  some 
how,  some  day,  when  God  settled  Josiah's  personal  account  with 
a  wicked  man.  He  had,  however,  an  urgent  curiosity  to  see 
how  it  would  end  and  a  remainder  of  far-descended  savagery 
in  the  wish  to  let  his  one  enemy  know  that  he  was  a  witness 
of  his  punishment.  Thinking  thus,  Josiah  went  through  the 
wayside  scrub  to  see  how  the  guard  would  dispose  of  their  pris 
oner. 

The  man  who  had  sinned  was  presently  tied  to  a  tree  facing 
the  road.  His  hands  were  securely  tied  behind  it,  and  his  feet 
as  rudely  dealt  with.  He  said  no  word  as  they  pinned  the  label 
on  his  breast.  Then  the  two  guards  sat  down  between  Peter 
and  the  roadway.  Men  of  the  passing  brigades  asked  them 
questions.  They  replied  briefly  and  smoked  with  entire  uncon 
cern  as  to  their  prisoner,  or  speculated  in  regard  to  what  the 
Eebs  would  say  or  do  to  him.  The  mosquitoes  tormented  him, 
and  once  he  shuddered  when  one  of  the  guards  guessed  that 
perhaps  the  girl  would  come  back  and  see  him  tied  up.  The 
story  of  Grant's  unusual  punishment  was  told  over  and  over 
to  men  as  the  regiments  went  by.  Now  and  then  soldiers  left 
the  ranks  to  read  the  sentence  of  what  must  mean  death.  Some 
as  they  read  were  as  silent  as  the  doomed  wretch ;  others  laughed 
or  cursed  him  for  dishonouring  the  army  in  which  this  one 
crime  was  almost  unknown.  A  sergeant  tore  the  corps  mark 
from  his  coat,  and  still  he  said  no  word.  The  long-drawn 
array  went  on  and  on;  the  evening  shadows  lengthened;  miles 
of  wagon  trains  rumbled  by;  whips  cracked  over  mules;  the 
cavalry  guard  bringing  up  the  rear  was  lost  in  the  dust  left 
by  tramping  thousands ;  the  setting  sun  shone  through  it  ruddy ; 
and  last  came  the  squadron  net  of  the  Provost-marshal  gath 
ering  in  the  stragglers.  Tired  men  were  helped  by  a  grip  on 
the  stirrup  leather.  The  lazy  loiterers  were  urged  forward  with 


406  WESTWAYS 

language  unquotable,  the  mildest  being  "  darned  coffee-cool 
ers."  At  last,  all  had  gone. 

Josiah  rose  from  his  hiding  place  and  listened  as  the  clank 
of  steel  and  the  sound  of  hurried  horsemen  died  away.  No 
other  noises  broke  the  twilight  stillness.  He  walked  back  to  the 
roadside,  and  stood  before  the  pinioned  and  now  lonely  man. 
"  You  're  caught  at  last,  Peter  Lamb." 

"  Oh,  Lord !  »  cried  the  captive.  "  It 's  Josiah.  For  God's 
sake,  let  me  loose." 

"Beckon  I  won't,"  said  Josiah. 

"  I  'm  in  agony  —  my  arms  —  I  shall  die  —  and  I  am  inno 
cent.  I  did  not  do  anything.  Won't  you  help  me?" 

"  No  —  the  Rebs  will  come  and  hang  you." 

The  man's  cunning  awoke.  He  said  the  one  thing,  made  the 
one  plea  which,  as  he  spoke,  troubled  Josiah's  decision.  "  Is 
the  Squire  alive  ?  "  » 

"  Why  should  n't  he  be  alive  ?  "  asked  Josiah,  surprised. 

"  Oh,  I  saw  in  a  paper  that  he  was  wounded  at  Gettysburg. 
Now,  Josiah,  if  he  was  here  —  if  he  was  to  know  you  left  me 
to  die." 

Josiah  was  uncertain  what  he  would  have  done.  His  simple- 
minded  view  of  things  was  disturbed,  and  his  tendency  to  be 
forgiving  kindly  assisted  to  give  potency  to  the  appeal.  He 
said,  "  I  won't  set  you  free,  but  I  '11  do  this  much,"  and  he  tore 
the  paper  from  Peter's  breast,  saying,  "  You'  11  get  off  with 
some  lie  when  the  Rebs  come."  Then  he  turned  and  walked 
away,  tearing  up  the  death  warrant  and  hearing  the  wild  pleas 
of  the  painfully  bound  man. 

The  night  had  come,  but  save  for  the  faintly  heard  com 
plaint  of  some  far-distant  dog,  there  was  nothing  to  break 
the  quiet  of  the  deserted  land  which  lay  between  the  two  armies. 
Having  torn  to  pieces  and  carefully  scattered  the  bits  of  paper, 
Josiah,  who  while  doing  one  thing  could  not  think  of  another, 
began  to  reflect  on  what  he  had  done.  He  had  been  too  long 


WESTWAYS  407 

in  servitude  not  to  respect  authority.  If  any  one  knew  —  but 
no  one  could  know.  He  himself  had  said  that  what  had  come 
upon  Lamb  was  a  judgment  —  the  act  of  one  who  had  said, 
"  I  will  repay."  It  troubled  a  mind  whose  machinery  was  of 
childlike  incapacity  to  deal  with  problems  involving  the  moral 
aspects  of  conduct.  Perhaps  this  had  been  a  chance  to  give 
Lamb  an  opportunity  to  repent  by  setting  him  free;  but  there 
had  already  been  interference  with  the  judgment  of  God.  More 
personally  material  events  relieved  the  black  from  responsibility. 
His  quick  ear  caught  the  sound  of  troopers,  the  sharp  notes  of 
steel  clinking;  he  had  no  mind  to  be  picked  up  by  the  enemy's 
horse,  and  dismissing  all  other  considerations  he  took  to  the 
woods  and  walked  rapidly  away.  Late  in  the  evening  he 
crossed  the  North  Anna  with  a  train  of  wagons,  as  driver  of  an 
unruly  mule  team,  one  of  which  had  rewarded  his  driver  in 
kind  for  brutal  use  of  the  whip  and  perverted  English.  The 
man  groaning  in  the  wagon  informed  Josiah  concerning  mules 
and  their  ways.  After  a  day  or  two  he  was  pleased  to  get  back 
on  his  legs,  for  when  bullets  were  not  flying  the  army  life 
was  full  of  interest.  A  man  who  could  cook  well,  shave  an 
officer  or  shoe  a  horse,  never  lacked  the  friends  of  an  hour ;  and 
too,  his  unfailing  good-humour  was  always  helpful.  An  officer 
of  the  line  would  have  been  easy  to  find,  but  the  engineers  were 
continually  in  motion  and  hard  to  locate.  He  got  no  news  of 
John  Penhallow  until  the  29th  of  May,  when  he  came  on  Gen 
eral  Wilson's  cavalry  division  left  on  the  north  side  of  the 
Pamunkey  Eiver  to  cover  the  crossing  of  the  trains.  These 
troopers  were  rather  particular  about  straggling  negroes,  and 
Josiah  sharply  questioned  told  the  simple  truth  as  he  moved 
toward  the  bridge,  answering  the  questions  of  a  young  officer. 
A  horse  tied  to  a  sapling  at  the  roadside  for  reasons  unknown 
kicked  the  passing  cavalry  man's  horse.  The  officer  moved  on 
swearing  a  very  original  mixture  of  the  over-ripe  English  of 
armies.  Swearing  was  a  highly  cultivated  accomplishment  in 


408  WESTWAYS 

the  cavalry;  no  infantry  profanity  approached  it  in  originality. 
The  officer  occupied  with  his  uneasy  horse  dropped  Josiah  as  he 
rode  on.  A  small,  dark-skinned  negro,  rather  neatly  dressed, 
spoke  to  Josiah  in  the  dialect  of  the  Southern  slave,  which  I 
shall  not  try  to  put  on  paper.  He  spoke  reflectively  and  as  if 
from  long  consideration  of  the  subject,  entering  at  once  into 
the  intimacies  of  a  relation  with  the  man  of  his  own  colour. 

"  That  horse  is  the  meanest  I  ever  saw  —  I  know  him/' 

"  He 's  near  thoroughbred,"  said  Josiah,  "  and  been  badly 
handled,  I  reckon.  It  's  no  good  cussin'  horses  or  mules  —  a 
good  horseman  don't  ever  do  it  —  horses  know." 

"  Well,  the  officer  that  rides  that  horse  now  is  about  the  only 
man  can  ride  him.  That  horse  pretty  nearly  killed  one  of  my 
general's  staff.  He  sold  him  mighty  sudden." 

"Who's  your  General?"  queries  Josiah. 

"  Why,  General  Grant  —  I  'm  his  headquarter  man  —  they 
call  me  Bill  —  everybody  knows  me." 

He  rose  at  once  in  Josiah's  estimation.  "Who  owns  that 
horse  ?  "  asked  Josiah.  "  I  'd  like  well  to  handle  his  beast." 

"  He 's  an  engineer-officer,  name  of  Penhallow.  He  's  down 
yonder  somewhere  about  that  pontoon  bridge.  I  'm  left  here 
to  hunt  up  a  headquarter  wagon." 

"  Penhallow !  "  exclaimed  Josiah,  delighted.  "  Why,  I  'm 
down  here  to  be  his  servant." 

"Well,  let's  go  to  the  bridge.  You'll  get  a  chance  to  cross 
after  the  wagons  get  over.  I  've  just  found  mine."  They 
moved  to  one  side  and  sat  down.  "  That 's  Wilson's  cavalry 
on  guard.  Worst  dust  I  ever  saw.  Infantry  dust's  bad,  but 
cavalry  dust  don't  ever  settle.  The  Ninth  Corps's  gone  over. 
There  come  the  wagons."  With  cracking  of  whip  and  impreca 
tions  the  wagons  went  over  the  swaying  pontoons.  Bill  left 
him,  and  Josiah  waited  to  cross  behind  the  wagons. 

On  the  bridge  midway,  a  young  officer  in  the  dark  dress  and 
black-striped  pantaloons  of  the  engineers  moved  beside  the 


WESTWAYS  409 

teams  anxiously  observing  some  loosened  flooring.  A  wagon 
wheel  gave  way,  and  the  wagon  lurching  over  struck  the  officer, 
who  fell  into  the  muddy  water  of  the  Pamunkey.  Always 
amused  at  an  officer's  mishap,  cavalry  men  and  drivers  laughed. 
The  young  man  struck  out  for  the  farther  shore,  and  came 
on  to  a  shelving  slope  of  slimy  mud,  and  was  vainly  strug 
gling  to  get  a  footing  when  an  officer  ran  down  the  bank  and  gave 
him  a  needed  hand.  Thus  aided,  Penhallow  gained  firm  ground. 
With  a  look  of  disgust  at  his  condition,  as  he  faced  the  laughing 
troopers  he  said,  with  his  somewhat  formal  way,  "  To  whom  am 
I  indebted?" 

"  Eoland  Blake  is  my  name.  Is  n't  it  Captain  Penhallow  of 
the  engineers  ?  " 

"Yes,  well  disguised  with  Eebel  mud.  What  a  mess!  But, 
by  George !  not  worse  than  you  when  I  first  saw  you." 

"Where  was  it?"  asked  Blake. 

"  I  can  give  a  good  guess.  You  were  quite  as  lovely  as  Mr. 
Penhallow."  It  was  a  third  officer  who  spoke.  "  By  the  bye," 
he  added,  "  as  Blake  does  n't  present  me,  I  am  Philip  Francis." 

"  I  can't  even  offer  to  shake  hands,"  returned  Penhallow, 
laughing,  as  he  scraped  the  flakes  of  mud  from  his  face.  "  I 
saw  you  both  at  the  Bloody  Angle.  I  think  I  could  describe 
you." 

"  Don't,"  said  Francis. 

"  Some  people  are  modest,"  said  Blake.  "  I  think  you  will 
soon  dry  to  dust  in  this  sun.  I  have  offered  myself  that  con 
solation  before.  It 's  the  only  certainty  in  this  land  of  the  un 
expected." 

"  The  wagons  are  over ;  here  comes  the  guard,"  said  Francis. 
"  It 's  our  beastly  business  now.  Call  up  the  men,  Roland." 

"  Provost  duty,  I  suppose,"  said  Penhallow.  "  I  prefer  my 
mud." 

"  Yes,"  growled  Francis,  "  human  scavengers  —  army  police. 
I  'm  out  of  it  this  week,  thank  Heaven." 


410  WESTWAYS 

The  last  wagon  came  creaking  over  the  bridge,  the  long  line 
of  cavalry  trotted  after  them,  the  Provost  Guard  mounted  to 
fall  in  at  the  rear  and  gather  in  the  stragglers. 

"  Sorry  I  can't  give  you  a  mount,"  said  Blake,  as  he  turned 
to  recross  the  bridge. 

"  Thank  you,  I  have  a  horse  on  the  other  side."  As  he  spoke 
a  breeze  stirred  the  dead  atmosphere  and  shook  down  from  the 
trees  their  gathered  load  of  dust. 

Francis  said,  "  It  's  half  of  Virginia  !  " 

Blake  murmured,  "  Dust  to  dust  —  a  queer  reminder." 

"  Oh,  shut  up !  "  cried  Francis. 

The  young  engineer  laughed  and  said  to  himself,  "  If  Aunt 
Ann  could  see  me.  It  's  like  being  tarred  and  feathered.  See 
you  soon  again,  I  hope,  Mr.  Blake.  I  am  deep  in  your  debt." 
They  passed  out  of  sight.  No  one  remained  but  the  bridge- 
guard. 

The  engineer  sat  down  and  devoted  his  entire  energies  to 
the  difficult  task  of  pulling  off  boots  full  of  mud  and  water. 
Meanwhile  as  the  provost-officers  rode  back  over  the  pontoons 
Francis  said,  "  I  remember  that  man,  Penhallow,  at  the  Bloody 
Angle.  He  was  the  only  man  I  saw  who  was  n't  fight-crazy, 
he  insisted  on  my  going  to  the  rear.  You  know  I  was 
bleeding  like  a  stuck  pig.  It  was  between  the  two  attacks. 

I  said,  '  Oh,  go  to  H ! 9  He  said,  '  There  is  no  need  to  go 

far/  I  am  sure  he  did  not  remember  me.  A  rather  cool  hand 
—  West  Point,  of  course." 

"  What  struck  me,"  said  Blake,  "  was  that  he  did  not  swear." 

"  Then,"  said  Francis,  "  he  is  the  only  man  in  the  army  who 
would  have  failed  to  damn  those  grinning  troopers." 

"  Except  Grant,"  said  Blake. 

"  So  they  say. —  It 's  hard  to  believe,  but  I  suppose  the  Staff 
knows.  Wonder  if  Lee  swears.  Two  army  commanders  who 
don't  swear  ?  It  ?s  incredible !  " 


WESTWAYS  411 

As  Penhallow,  left  alone,  tugged  at  a  reluctant  boot,  he  heard, 
"  Good  Lord !  Master  John,  that 's  my  business." 

He  looked  up  to  seize  Josiah  by  the  hand,  exclaiming,  "  How 
did  you  get  here?  —  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  Pull  off  this  boot. 
How  are  they  all?" 

"  The  Colonel  he  sent  me." 

"  Indeed  !     How  is  he  ?     I  've  not  heard  for  a  month." 

"He's  bad,  Master  John,  bad  —  kind  of  forgets  things  — 
and  swears." 

"  That  's  strange  for  him." 

"  The  doctors  they  can't  seem  to  make  it  out.  He  has  n't 
put  a  leg  over  a  horse,  not  since  he  was  wounded."  Evidently 
this  was  for  Josiah  the  most  serious  evidence  of  change  from 
former  health. 

"How  is  Aunt  Ann?" 

Tugging  at  the  boots  Josiah  answered,  "  She  's  just  a  wonder 
—  and  Miss  Leila,  she 's  just  as  pretty  as  a  pansy." 

Penhallow  smiled;  it  left  a  large  choice  to  the  imagination. 
"  Pansy  —  pansy  —  why  is  she  like  a  pansy,  Josiah  ?  " 

"  Well,  Master  John,  it 's  because  she 's  so  many  kinds  of 
pretty.  You  see  I  used  to  raise  pansies.  That  boot's  a  tough 
one." 

"  Have  you  any  letters  for  me  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  They  said  I  was  n't  as  sure  as  the  army-post. 
Got  a  note  from  Dr.  McGregor  in  my  sack.  Had  n't  I  better  get 
your  horse  over  the  bridge  —  I  liked  his  looks,  and  I  asked  a 
man  named  Bill  who  owned  that  horse.  He  said  you  did,  and 
that 's  how  I  found  you.  He  said  that  horse  was  a  bad  one. 
He  said  he  was  called  '  Hoodoo.'  That 's  unlucky !  " 

"  Yes,  he 's  mine,  Josiah.  You  would  like  to  change  his 
name  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  would.     This  boot 's  the  worst !  " 

Penhallow  laughed.     "  That  horse,  Josiah,  has  every  virtue  a 


412  WESTWAYS 

horse  ought  to  have  and  every  vice  he  ought  not  to  have.  He  '11 
be  as  good  as  Aunt  Ann  one  day,  and  as  mean  and  bad  as  Peter 
Lamb  the  next  day.  Halloa  there,  guard !  let  my  man  cross 
over/' 

Hoodoo  came  quietly,  and  as  Penhallow  walked  his  horse, 
Josiah  related  the  village  news,  and  then  more  and  more  plainly 
the  captain  gathered  some  clear  idea  of  his  uncle's  condition 
and  of  the  influence  the  younger  woman  was  exerting  on  a 
household  over  which  hung  the  feeling  of  inexorable  doom. 
As  he  read  McGregor's  letter  he  knew  too  well  that  were  he 
with  them  he  could  be  of  no  practical  use. 

The  next  few  days  John  Penhallow  was  kept  busy,  and  on 
June  2nd  having  to  report  with  some  sketch-maps  he  found  the 
headquarters  at  Bethesda  Church.  The  pews  had  been  taken 
out  and  set  under  trees.  The  staff  was  scattered  about  at  ease. 
General  Grant,  to  John's  amusement,  was  petting  a  stray  kit 
ten  with  one  hand  and  writing  despatches  with  the  other.  At 
last  he  began  to  talk  with  members  of  the  Christian  Commission 
about  their  work.  Among  them  John  was  aware  of  Mark  Eivers. 
A  few  minutes  later  he  had  his  chance  and  took  the  clergyman 
away  to  the  tents  of  the  engineers  for  a  long  and  disheartening 
talk  of  home.  They  met  no  more  for  many  days,  and  soon  he 
was  too  busy  to  think  of  asking  the  leave  of  absence  he  so  much 
desired. 


CHAPTEE  XXVII 

THE  effort  to  crush  Lee's  army  by  a  frontal  attack  led  to 
the  disastrous  defeat  of  Cold  Harbor,  and  Grant  who  was 
never  personally  routed  resolved  to  throw  his  army  south  of  the 
James  River.  It  involved  a  concealed  night  march,  while  his 
lines  were  in  many  places  but  thirty  to  one  hundred  feet  from 
the  watchful  Confederates.  The  utmost  secrecy  was  used  in 
regard  to  the  bold  movement  intended,  but  preparations  for  it 
demanded  frequent  reconnaissances  and  map-sketching  on  the 
part  of  the  engineers.  A  night  of  map-making  after  a  long 
day  in  the  saddle  left  John  Penhallow  on  June  6th  a  weary 
man  lying  on  his  camp-bed  too  tired  to  sleep.  He  heard 
Blake  ask,  "  Are  you  at  home,  Penhallow  ?  "  Few  men  would 
have  been  as  welcome  as  the  serious-minded  New  England  cap 
tain  who  had  met  Penhallow  from  time  to  time  since  the  engi 
neer's  mud-bath  in  the  Pamunkey  River. 

"  Glad  to  get  you  by  yourself/'  said  Blake.  "  You  look  used 
up.  Do  keep  quiet !  " 

"  I  will,  but  sit  down  and  take  a  pipe.  Coffee,  Josiah ! "  he 
called  out.  "  I  am  quite  too  popular  by  reason  of  Josiah's 
amazing  ability  to  forage.  If  the  Headquarters  are  within 
reach,  he  and  Bill  —  that's  the  general's  man  —  hunt  together. 
The  results  are  surprising!  But  I  learned  long  ago  from  my 
uncle,  Colonel  Penhallow,  that  in  the  army  it  is  well  to  ask 
no  unnecessary  questions.  My  man  is  very  intelligent,  and  as 
I  keep  him  in  tobacco  and  greenbacks,  I  sometimes  fancy  that 
Headquarters  does  not  always  get  the  best  out  of  the  raids  of 
these  two  contrabands." 

"I  have  profited  by  it,  Penhallow.  I  have  personal  mem- 

413 


414  WESTWAYS 

ories  of  that  young  roast  pig,  I  think  your  man  called  it  a  shoat. 
Your  corps  must  have  caught  it  hard  these  last  days.  I  suppose 
we  are  in  for  something  unusual.  You  are  the  only  man  I 
know  who  does  n't  grumble.  Francis  says  it 's  as  natural  to  the 
beast  called  an  army  as  barking  is  to  a  dog/' 

"  Of  course,  the  habit  is  stupid,  Blake.  I  mean  the  constant 
growl  about  the  unavoidable  discomforts  of  war;  but  this  last 
week  has  got  me  near  the  growling  point.  I  have  had  two 
ague  chills  and  quinine  enough  to  ring  chimes  in  my  head.  I 
have  n't  had  a  decent  wash  for  a  week,  and  really  war  is  a 
disgustingly  dirty  business.  You  don't  realize  that  in  history, 
in  fiction,  or  in  pictures.  It 's  filthy !  Oh,  you  may  laugh !  " 

"Who  could  help  laughing?'' 

<e  I  can  to-day.  To-morrow  I  shall  grin  at  it  all,  but  just 
now  I  am  half  dead.  What  with  laying  corduroys  and  bridging 
creeks,  to  be  burnt  up  next  day,  and  Chickahominy  flies  —  oh, 
Lord!  If  there  is  nothing  else  on  hand  in  the  way  of  copies 
of  maps,  some  general  like  Barnard  has  an  insane  curiosity  to 
reconnoitre.  Then  the  Eebs  wake  up  —  and  amuse  themselves." 

Blake  laughed.     "  You  are  getting  pretty  near  to  that  growl." 

"Am  I?  I  have  more  than  impossible  demands  to  bother 
me.  What  with  some  despondent  letters  —  I  told  you  about 
my  uncle's  wound  and  the  results,  I  should  have  a  fierce  attack 
of  home-sickness  if  I  had  leisure  to  think  at  all." 

Blake  had  found  in  Penhallow  much  that  he  liked  and 
qualities  which  were  responsive  to  his  own  high  ideal  of  the 
man  and  the  soldier.  He  looked  him  over  as  the  young  engi 
neer  lay  on  his  camp-bed.  "  Get  anything  but  home-sick,  Pen- 
hallow  !  I  get  faint  fits  of  it.  The  quinine  of  '  Get  up,  captain, 
and  put  out  those  pickets '  dismisses  it,  or  bullets.  Lord,  but 
we  have  had  them  in  over-doses  of  late.  Francis  has  been  hit 
twice  but  not  seriously.  He  says  that  Lee  is  an  irregular  prac 
titioner.  It  is  strange  that  some  men  are  hit  in  every  skirmish ; 
it  would  bleed  the  courage  out  of  me." 


WESTWAYS  415 

"Would  it?  I  have  had  two  flesh  wounds.  They  made  me 
furiously  angry.  You  were  speaking  of  Lee  —  my  uncle  greatly 
admired  him.  I  should  like  to  know  more  about  him.  I  had 
a  little  chance  when  we  were  trying  to  arrange  a  truce  to  care 
for  the  wounded.  You  remember  it  failed,  but  I  had  a  few 
minute's  talk  with  a  Rebel  captain.  He  liked  it  when  I  told 
him  how  much  we  admired  his  general.  That  led  him  to  talk, 
and  among  other  things  he  told  me  that  Lee  had  no  sense  of 
humour  and  I  gathered  was  a  man  rather  difficult  of  approach/' 

"  He  might  apply  to  Grant  for  the  rest  of  his  qualities,"  said 
Blake.  "  He  would  get  it ;  but  what  made  you  ask  about  sense 
of  the  humorous?  I  have  too  little,  Francis  too  much." 

"  Oh,"  laughed  Penhallow,  "  from  saint  to  sinner  it  is  a  good 
medicine  —  even  for  home-sickness." 

"  And  the  desperate  malady  of  love,"  returned  Blake.  "  I 
shall  not  venture  to  diagnose  your  need.  How  is  that  ?  " 

"I?  —  nonsense,"  laughed  the  engineer.  " But  seriously, 
Blake,  about  home-sickness ;  one  of  my  best  men  has  it  badly  — 
not  the  mild  malady  you  and  I  may  have." 

"You  are  quite  right.  It  accounts  for  some  desertions  — 
not  to  the  enemy,  of  course.  I  talked  lately  of  this  condition 
to  a  Dr.  McGregor — " 

"  McGregor !  "  returned  Penhallow,  sitting  up.  "  Where  is 
he  ?  I  'd  like  to  see  him  —  an  old  comrade." 

"  He  is  with  our  brigade." 

"  Tell  him  to  look  me  up.  The  engineers  are  easily  found 
just  now.  He  was  an  old  schoolmate." 

"  I  '11  tell  him.  By  the  way,  Penhallow,  when  asking  for  my 
mail  to-day,  I  persuaded  the  post-master  to  give  me  your  let 
ters.  Don't  mind  me  —  you  will  want  to  read  them  —  quite 
a  batch  of  them." 

"  Oh,  they  can  wait.  Don't  go.  Ah !  here 's  Josiah  with 
coffee." 

"  How  it  does   set  a  fellow  up,  Penhallow.     Another  cup, 


416  WESTWAYS 

please.  I  had  to  wait  a  long  time  for  our  letters  and  yours. 
Beally  that  place  was  more  tragic  than  a  battlefield/' 

"  Why  so  ?     I  send  Josiah  for  my  mail." 

"  Oh,  there  were  three  cold-blooded  men-machines  returning 
letters.  I  watched  them  marking  the  letters — 'not  found' — • 
'missing' — and  so  on." 

"  Killed,  I  suppose  —  or  prisoners." 

"  Yes,  awful,  indeed  —  most  sorrowful !  Imagine  it !  Others 
were  forwarding  letters  —  heaps  of  them  —  from  men  who  may 
be  dead.  You  know  how  apt  men  are  to  write  letters  before  a 
battle." 

"  I  wait  till  it  is  over,"  said  Penhallow. 

"  That  post-office  gave  me  a  fit  of  craving  for  home  and 
peace." 

"  Home-sickness !     What,  you,  Blake !  " 

"  Oh,  that  worst  kind ;  home-sickness  for  a  home  when  you 
have  no  home.  I  wonder  if  in  that  other  world  we  shall  be 
home-sick  for  this." 

"  That  depends.  Ah !  here  comes  a  reminder  that  we  are  in 
this  world  just  now  —  and  just  as  we  have  begun  one  of  our 
real  talks." 

An  orderly  appeared  with  a  note.  Penhallow  read  it.  He 
was  on  his  feet  at  once.  "  Saddle  Hoodoo,  Josiah.  I  must  go. 
Come  soon  again,  Blake.  We  have  had  a  good  talk  —  or  a  bit 
of  one." 

At  four  in  the  morning  of  June  14th,  when  John  Penhallow 
with  a  group  of  older  engineers  looked  across  the  twenty-one 
hundred  feet  of  the  James  Kiver  they  were  to  bridge,  he  realized 
the  courage  and  capacity  of  the  soldier  who  had  so  completely 
deceived  his  wary  antagonist.  Before  eleven  that  night  a 
hundred  pontoons  stayed  by  barges  bridged  the  wide  stream 
from  shore  to  shore.  Already  the  Second  Corps  under  Hancock 
had  been  hastily  ferried  over  the  river.  The  work  on  the 
bridge  had  been  hard,  and  the  young  Captain  had  had  neither 


WESTWAYS  417 

food  nor  rest.  Late  at  night,  the  work  being  over,  he  recrossed 
the  bridge,  and  after  a  hasty  meal  lay  down  on  the  bluff  above 
the  James  with  others  of  his  Corps  and  slept  the  uneasy  sleep 
of  an  overtired  man.  At  dawn  he  was  awakened  by  the  multi 
ple  noises  of  an  army  moving  on  the  low-lying  meadows 
below  the  bluff.  Refreshed  and  free  from  any  demand  on  his 
time,  he  breakfasted  at  ease,  and  lighting  his  pipe  was 
at  once  deeply  interested  in  what  he  saw.  As  he  looked  about 
him,  he  was  aware  of  General  Grant  standing  alone  on  the 
higher  ground.  He  saw  the  general  throw  away  his  cigar  and 
with  hands  clasped  behind  him  remain  watching  in  rapt 
silence  the  scene  below  him.  "I  wonder,"  thought  Penhallow, 
"of  what  he  is  thinking/'  The  face  was  grave,  the  man  mo 
tionless.  The  engineer  turned  to  look  at  the  matchless  spectacle 
below  him.  The  sound  of  bands  rose  in  gay  music  from  the 
approaches  to  the  river,  where  vast  masses  of  infantry  lay  wait 
ing  their  turn  to  cross.  The  guns  of  batteries  gleamed  in  the 
sun,  endless  wagon-trains  and  ambulances  moved  or  were  at  rest. 
Here  and  there  the  wind  of  morning  fluttered  the  flags  and 
guidons  with  flashes  of  colour.  The  hum  of  a  great  army,  the 
multitudinous  murmurs  of  men  talking,  the  crack  of  whips, 
the  sharp  rattle  of  wagons  and  of  moving  artillery,  made  a 
strange  orchestra.  Over  all  rose  the  warning  shrieks  of  the 
gun-boat  signals.  Far  or  near  on  the  fertile  meadows  the 
ripened  corn  and  grain  showed  in  green  squares  between  the 
masses  of  men  and  stirred  in  the  morning  breeze  or  lay  trampled 
in  ruin  by  the  rude  feet  of  war.  It  was  an  hour  and  a  scene  to 
excite  the  dullest  mind,  and  Penhallow  intensely  interested 
sat  fascinated  by  a  spectacle  at  once  splendid  and  fateful.  The 
snake-like  procession  of  infantry  wagons  and  batteries  moved 
across  the  bridge  and  was  lost  to  view  in  the  forest.  Penhallow 
turned  again  to  look  at  his  general,  who  remained  statuesque 
and  motionless.  Then,  suddenly  the  master  of  this  might  of 
men  and  guns  looked  up,  listened  to  Warren's  artillery  far 


418  WESTWAYS 

beyond  the  river,  and  with  the  same  expressionless  face  called 
for  his  horse  and  rode  away  followed  by  his  staff. 

The  battle-summer  of  1864  went  on  with  the  wearisome 
siege  of  Petersburg  and  the  frequent  efforts  to  cut  the  railways 
which  enabled  the  Confederates  to  draw  supplies  from  states 
which  as  yet  had  hardly  felt  the  stress  of  war. 

Late  in  the  year  the  army  became  a  city  of  huts,  and  there 
was  the  unexampled  spectacle  of  this  great  host  voting  quietly 
in  the  election  which  gave  to  Lincoln  another  evidence  of  the 
trust  reposed  in  him.  The  engineers  had  little  to  do  in  con 
nection  with  the  larger  movements  of  the  army,  and  save  for 
the  siege  work  were  at  times  idle  critics  of  their  superiors. 
The  closing  month  of  1864  brought  weather  which  made  the 
wooden  huts,  usually  shared  by  two  officers,  more  comfortable 
than  tents.  The  construction  of  these  long  streets  of  shelter 
ing  quarters  brought  out  much  ingenuity,  and  Penhallow 
profited  by  Josiah's  clever  devices  and  watchful  care.  As  the 
army  was  in  winter-quarters,  there  was  time  enough  for  pleasant 
visiting,  and  for  the  engineers  more  than  enough  of  danger 
in  the  trenches  or  when  called  on  to  accompany  some  general 
officer  as  an  aide  during  Grant's  obstinate  efforts  to  cut  the 
railways  on  which  Lee  relied.  Francis,  not  gravely  wounded, 
was  at  home  repairing  damages;  but  now,  with  snow  on  the 
ground  and  ease  of  intercourse,  Blake  was  a  frequent  visitor 
in  the  engineer  quarters.  When  Eivers  also  turned  up,  the  two 
young  men  found  the  talk  unrivalled,  for  never  had  the  tall 
clergyman  seemed  more  attractive  or  as  happy. 

Of  an  afternoon  late  in  November  Penhallow  was  toasting 
himself  by  the  small  fire-place  and  deep  in  thought.  He  had 
had  a  long  day  in  the  intrenchments  and  one  moment  of  that 
feeling  of  imminent  nearness  to  death  which  affects  men  in 
various  ways.  A  Bhell  neatly  dropped  in  a  trench  within  a 
few  feet  of  where  he  stood,  rolled  over,  spitting  red  flashes. 
The  men  cried,  "  Down,  down,  sir ! "  and  fell  flat.  Something 


WESTWAYS  419 

like  the  fascination  a  snake  exercises  held  him  motionless;  he 
never  was  able  to  explain  his  folly.  The  fuse  went  out  as  he 
watched  it  —  the  shell  was  a  dead  thing  and  harmless.  The 
men  as  they  rose  eyed  him  curiously. 

"  A  near  thing,"  he  said,  and  with  unusual  care  moved  along 
a  traverse,  his  duty  over  for  the  day.  He  took  with  him  a 
feeling  of  mental  confusion  and  of  annoyed  wonder. 

He  found  Josiah  picking  a  chicken  as  he  sat  whistling  in 
front  of  the  tent.  "  There 's  been  a  fight,  sir,  about  three 
o'clock,  on  our  left.  Bill  says  we  beat." 

"  Indeed !  "  It  was  too  common  news  to  interest  him.  He 
felt  some  singular  completeness  of  exhaustion,  and  was  troubled 
because  of  there  being  no  explanation  which  satisfied  him. 
Asking  for  whisky  to  Josiah's  surprise,  he  took  it  and  lay  down, 
as  the  servant  said,  "  There  ?s  letters,  sir,  on  the  table." 

"  Very  well.  Close  the  tent  and  say  I  'm  not  well ;  I  won't 
see  any  one." 

"Yes,  sir.     Nothing  serious?" 

"No"    He  fell  asleep  as  if  drugged. 

Outside  Josiah  picked  his  lean  chicken  and  whistled  with  such 
peculiar  sweetness  as  is  possible  only  to  the  black  man.  Every 
thing  interested  him.  Now  and  then  he  listened  to  the  varied 
notes  of  the  missiles  far  away  and  attracting  little  attention 
unless  men  were  so  near  that  the  war-cries  of  shot  and 
shell  became  of  material  moment.  The  day  was  cold,  and  an 
early  November  snow  lay  on  the  ground  and  covered  the  long 
rows  of  cabins.  Far  to  the  rear  a  band  was  practising.  Josiah 
listened,  and  with  a  negative  head-shake  of  disapproving  criti 
cism  returned  to  the  feather  picking  and  sang  as  he  picked : 

I  wish   I  was   in   Dixie   land, 
In  Dixie  land,  in  Dixie  land. 

He  held  up  the  plucked  fowl  and  said,  "Must  have  been  on 
short  rations." 


420  WESTWAYS 

The  early  evening  was  quiet.  Now  and  then  a  cloaked  horse 
man  went  by  noiseless  on  the  snow.  Josiah  looked  up,  laid 
down  the  chicken,  and  listened  to  the  irregular  tramp  of  a  body 
of  men.  Then,  as  the  head  of  a  long  column  came  near  and 
passed  before  him  between  the  rows  of  huts,  he  stood  up  to  watch 
them.  "  Prisoners/'  he  said.  Many  were  battle-grimed  and 
in  tatters,  without  caps  and  ill-shod.  Here  and  there  among 
them  a  captured  officer  marched  on  looking  straight  ahead. 
The  larger  part  were  dejected  and  plodded  on  in  silence,  with 
heads  down,  while  others  stared  about  them  curious  and  from 
the  cabins  near  by  a  few  officers  came  out  and  many  soldiers 
gathered.  As  usual  there  were  no  comments,  no  sign  of  tri 
umph  and  only  the  silence  of  respect. 

Josiah  asked  a  guard  where  they  came  from.  "  Oh,  Han 
cock's  fight  at  Hatcher's  Eun  —  got  about  nine  hundred." 

The  crowd  of  observers  increased  in  number  as  the  end  of 
the  line  drew  near.  Josiah  lost  interest  and  sat  down.  "  Got 
to  singe  that  chicken,"  he  murmured,  with  the  habit  of  open 
speech  of  the  man  who  had  lived  long  alone.  Suddenly  he  let 
the  bird  drop  and  exclaimed  under  his  breath,  "  Jehoshaphat ! " 
—  his  only  substitute  for  an  oath  — "  it 's  him !  "  Among  the 
last  of  the  line  of  captured  men  he  saw  one  with  head  bent 
down  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left  —  it  was  Peter 
Lamb!  At  this  moment  two  soldiers  ran  forward  and  shouted 
out  something  to  the  officer  bringing  up  the  rear.  He  cried, 
"  Halt !  take  out  that  man."  There  was  a  little  confusion,  and 
Peter  was  roughly  haled  out  of  the  mass.  The  officer  called  a 
sergeant.  "  Guard  this  fellow  well,"  and  he  bade  the  men  who 
had  detected  Lamb  go  with  the  guard. 

Soldiers  crowded  in  on  them.  " What's  the  matter  —  who 
is  he?"  they  asked. 

"  Back,  there !  "  cried  the  Lieutenant. 

"  A  deserter,"  said  some  one.     "  Damn  him." 

Lamb  was  silent  while  between  the  two  guards  he  was  taken 


WESTWAYS  421 

to  the  rear.  Josiah  forgot  his  chicken  and  followed  them  at  a 
distance.  He  saw  Lamb  handcuffed  and  vainly  protesting  as 
he  was  thrust  into  the  prison-hut  of  the  provostry. 

Josiah  asked  one  of  the  men  who  had  brought  about  the  ar 
rest,  "Who  is  that  man?7' 

"  Oh,  he  was  a  good  while  ago  in  my  regiment  —  in  our 
company  too,  the  71st  Pennsylvania  —  a  drunken  beast  —  name 
of  Stacy  —  Joe  Stacy.  We  missed  him  when  we  were  near  the 
North  Anna  —  at  roll-call." 

"  What  will  they  do  with  him  ?  " 

"  Shoot  him,  I  hope.  His  hands  were  powder  blacked.  He 
was  caught  on  the  skirmish  line." 

"  Thank  you/'  Josiah  walked  away  deep  in  thought.  He 
soon  settled  to  the  conclusion  that  the  Rebs  had  found  Peter 
and  that  perhaps  he  had  had  no  choice  of  what  he  would  do 
and  had  had  to  enlist.  What  explanatory  lie  Peter  had  told  he 
could  not  guess. 

Josiah  went  slowly  back  to  the  tent.  His  chicken  was  gone. 
He  laid  this  loss  on  Peter,  saying,  "  He  always  did  bring  me 
bad  luck."  Penhallow  was  still  asleep.  Ought  he  to  tell  him 
of  Peter  Lamb.  He  decided  not  to  do  so,  or  at  least  to  wait. 
Inborn  kindliness  acted  as  it  had  done  before,  and  conscious  of 
his  own  helplessness,  he  was  at  a  loss.  Near  to  dusk  he  lighted 
a  pipe  and  sat  down  outside  of  Penhallow's  hut.  Servants  of 
engineer  officers  spoke  as  they  passed,  or  chaffed  him.  His 
readiness  for  a  verbal  duel  was  wanting  and  he  replied  curtly. 
He  was  trying  to  make  out  to  his  own  satisfaction  whether  he 
could  or  ought  to  do  anything  but  hold  his  tongue  and  let  this 
man  die  and  so  disappear.  He  knew  that  he  himself  could  do 
nothing,  nor  did  he  believe  anything  could  be  done  to  help  the 
man.  He  felt,  however,  that  because  he  hated  Peter,  lie 
was  bound  by  his  simply  held  creed  to  want  to  do  something. 
He  did  not  want  to  do  anything,  but  then  in  confusing  urgency 
there  was  the  old  mother,  the  colonel's  indulgent  care  of  this 


422  WESTWAYS 

drunken  animal,  and  at  last  some  personal  realization  of  the 
loneliness  of  this  man  so  near  to  death.  Then  he  remembered 
that  Mark  Rivers  was  within  reach.  To  get  this  clergyman  to 
see  Peter  would  relieve  him  of  the  singular  feeling  of  responsi 
bility  he  could  not  altogether  set  aside.  He  was  the  only  per 
son  who  could  identify  Lamb.  That,  at  least,  he  did  not  mean 
to  do.  He  would  find  Mr.  Rivers  and  leave  to  him  to  act  as 
he  thought  best.  He  heard  Penhallow  calling,  and  went  in  to 
find  him  reading  his  letters.  After  providing  for  his  wants, 
he  set  out  to  find  the  clergyman.  His  pass  carried  him  where- 
ever  he  desired  to  go,  and  after  ten  at  night  he  found  Mark 
Rivers  with  the  Christian  Commission. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Rivers.     "  Is  John  ill  ?  » 

"No,  sir,"  and  he  told  in  a  few  sentences  the  miserable 
story,  to  the  clergyman's  amazement. 

"  I  will  go  with  you/'  he  said.  "  I  must  get  leave  to  see  him, 
but  you  had  better  not  speak  of  Peter  to  any  one." 

Josiah  was  already  somewhat  indisposed  to  tell  to  others  the 
story  of  the  North  Anna  incident,  and  walked  on  in  silence 
over  the  snow  until  at  the  provost-marshal's  quarters  Rivers 
dismissed  him. 

In  a  brief  talk  with  the  provost-marshal,  Rivers  learned  that 
there  had  been  a  hastily  summoned  court-martial,  and  in  the 
presence  of  very  clear  evidence  a  verdict  approved  by  General 
Grant.  The  man  would  be  shot  at  seven  the  next  morning. 
"  A  hopeless  case,  Mr.  Rivers,"  said  the  Provost,  "  any  appeal 
for  reprieve  will  be  useless  —  utterly  useless  —  there  will  be  no 
time  given  for  appeal  to  Mr.  Lincoln.  We  have  had  too  much 
of  this  lately." 

Rivers  said  nothing  of  his  acquaintance  with  the  condemned 
man.  He  too  had  reached  the  conviction,  now  made  more  defi 
nite,  that  needless  pain  for  the  old  mother  could  be  avoided  by 
letting  Peter  die  with  the  name  he  had  assumed. 

It  was  after  twelve  at  night  when  the  provost's  pass  admitted 


WESTWAYS  423 

him  to  a  small  wooden  prison.  One  candle  dimly  lighted  the 
hut,  where  a  manacled  man  crouched  by  a  failing  fire.  The 
soldier  on  guard  passed  out  as  the  clergyman  entered.  When 
the  door  closed  behind  him,  Eivers  said,  "  Peter." 

"  My  God !  Mr.  Eivers.  They  say  I  '11  be  shot.  You  won't 
let  them  shoot  me  —  they  can't  do  it  —  I  don't  want  to  die." 

"  I  came  here  because  Josiah  recognized  you  and  brought 
me." 

"  He  must  have  told  on  me." 

"  Told  what  ?  He  did  not  tell  anything.  Now  listen  to  me. 
You  are  certain  to  be  shot  at  seven  to-morrow  morning.  I  have 
asked  for  delay  —  none  will  be  given.  I  come  only  to  entreat 
you  to  make  your  peace  with  God  —  to  tell  you  that  you  have 
but  these  few  hours  in  which  to  repent.  Let  me  pray  with  you  — 
for  you.  There  is  nothing  else  I  can  do  for  you;  I  have  tried 
and  failed.  Indeed  I  tried  most  earnestly." 

"You  can  help  if  you  will!  You  were  always  against  me. 
You  can  telegraph  Colonel  Penhallow.  He  will  answer  —  he 
won't  let  them  shoot  me." 

Eivers  who  stood  over  the  crouched  figure  laid  a  hand  on  his 
shoulder.  "  If  he  were  here  he  could  do  nothing.  And  even 
if  I  did  telegraph  him,  he  is  in  no  condition  to  answer.  He  was 
wounded  at  Gettysburg  and  his  mind  is  clouded.  It  would  only 
trouble  him  and  your  mother,  and  not  help  you.  Your  mother 
would  hear,  and  you  should  at  least  have  the  manliness  to  ac 
cept  in  silence  what  you  have  earned." 

"But  it's  my  life  —  my  life  —  I  can't  die."  Eivers  was 
silent.  "  You  won't  telegraph  ?  " 

"  No.     It  is  useless." 

"But  you  might  do  something  —  you're  cruel.  I  am  inno 
cent.  God  let  me  be  born  of  a  drunken  father  —  I  had  to  drink 
too  —  I  had  to.  The  Squire  would  n't  give  me  work  —  no  one 
helped  me.  I  enlisted  in  a  New  York  regiment.  I  got  drunk 
and  ran  away  and  enlisted  in  the  71st  Pennsylvania.  I  stole 


424  WESTWAYS 

chickens,  and  near  to  the  North  Anna  I  was  cruelly  punished. 
Then  the  Eebs  caught  me.  I  had  to  enlist.  Oh,  Lord!  I  am 
unfortunate.  If  I  only  could  have  a  little  whisky." 

Mark  Rivers  for  a  moment  barren  of  answer  was  sure  that 
as  usual  Peter  was  lying  and  without  any  of  his  old  cun 
ning. 

"  Peter,  this  story  does  not  help  you.  You  are  about  to  die, 
and  no  one  —  can  help  you  —  I  have  tried  in  vain  —  nothing 
can  save  you.  Why  at  a  time  so  solemn  as  this  do  you  lie 
to  me?  Why  did  you  desert?  and  for  stealing  chickens? 
nonsense ! " 

"Well,  then,  it  was  about  a  woman.  Josiah  knows  —  he 
saw  it  all.  I  didn't  desert  —  I  was  tied  to  a  tree  —  he  could 
clear  me.  They  left  me  tied.  I  had  to  enlist ;  I  had  to !  " 

"  A  woman !  "  Rivers  understood.  "  If  he  were  to  tell,  it 
would  only  make  your  case  worse.  Oh,  Peter,  let  me  pray  for 
you." 

"  Oh,  pray  if  you  want  to.  What 's  the  good  ?  If  you  won't 
telegraph  the  Squire,  get  me  whisky ;  and  if  you  won't  do  that, 
go  away.  Talk  about  God  and  praying  when  I'm  to  be  mur 
dered  just  because  my  father  drank!  I  don't  want  any  pray 
ing  —  I  don't  believe  in  it  —  you  just  go  away  and  get  me 
some  whisky.  The  Squire  might  have  saved  me  —  I  wanted 
to  quit  from  drink  and  he  just  told  me  to  get  out  —  and  I 
did.  I  hate  him  and  —  you." 

Rivers  stood  up.  "May  God  help  and  pity  you,"  he 
said,  and  so  left  him. 

He  slept  none,  and  rising  early,  prayed  fervently  for  this 
wrecked  soul.  As  he  walked  at  six  in  the  morning  to  the  prison 
hut,  he  thought  over  the  man  who  long  ago  had  so  defeated  him. 
He  had  seemed  to  him  more  feeble  in  mind  and  less  cunning  in 
his  statements  than  had  been  the  case  in  former  days.  He 
concluded  that  he  was  in  the  state  of  a  man  used  to  drinking 
whisky  and  for  a  time  deprived  of  it.  When  he  met  him 


WESTWAYS  425 

moving  under  guard  from  the  prison,  he  felt  sure  that  his 
conclusion  had  been  correct. 

As  Rivers  came  up,  the  officer  in  charge  said,  "  If,  sir,  as  a 
clergyman  you  desire  to  walk  beside  this  man,  there  is  no  ob 
jection/' 

"  Oh,  let  him  come/'  said  Peter,  with  a  defiant  air.  Some 
one  pitiful  had  indulged  the  fated  man  with  the  liquor  he 
craved. 

Rivers  took  his  place  beside  Peter  as  the  guards  at  his  side 
fell  back.  Soldiers  off  duty,  many  blacks  and  other  camp-fol 
lowers,  gathered  in  silence  as  the  little  procession  moved  over 
the  snow,  noiseless  except  for  the  tramp  of  many  feet  and  the 
rumble  of  the  cart  in  which  was  an  empty  coffin. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?  "  said  Rivers,  turning  toward 
the  flushed  face  at  his  side. 

"No  —  you  can't."  The  man  smelled  horribly  of  whisky; 
the  charitable  aid  must  have  been  ample. 

"  Is  there  any  message  you  want  me  to  carry  ?  " 

"  Message  —  who  would  I  send  messages  to  ? "  In  fact, 
Rivers  did  not  know.  He  was  appalled  at  a  man  going  half 
drunk  to  death.  He  moved  on,  for  a  little  while  at  the  end  of 
his  resources. 

"  Even  yet,"  he  whispered,  "  there  is  time  to  repent  and  ask 
God  to  pardon  a  wasted  life."  Peter  made  no  reply  and  then 
they  were  in  the  open  space  on  one  side  of  a  hollow  square.  On 
three  sides  the  regiment  stood  intent  as  the  group  came  near. 
"Even  yet,"  murmured  Rivers. 

Of  a  sudden  Peter's  face  became  white.  He  said,  "  I  want 
to  tell  you  one  thing  —  I  want  you  to  tell  him.  I  shot  the 
Squire  at  Gettysburg  —  I  wish  I  had  killed  him  —  I  thought  I 
had.  There!  —  I  always  did  get  even." 

"  Stand  back,  sir,  please,"  said  a  captain.  Rivers  was  dumb 
with  the  horror  of  it  and  stepped  aside.  The  last  words  he 
would  have  said  choked  him  in  the  attempt  to  speak. 


426  WESTWAYS 

Six  soldiers  took  their  places  before  the  man  who  stood  with 
his  hands  tied  behind  his  back,  his  face  white,  the  muscles 
twitching,  while  a  bandage  was  tied  over  his  eyes. 

"  He  wants  to  speak  to  you,  sir,"  said  the  captain. 

Eivers  stepped  to  his  side.  "  I  did  not  tell  my  name.  Tell 
my  mother  I  was  shot  —  not  how  —  not  why/' 

Eivers  fell  back.  The  captain  let  fall  a  handkerchief.  Six 
rifles  rang  out,  and  Peter  Lamb  had  gone  to  his  account. 

The  regiment  marched  away.  The  music  of  the  band  rang 
clear  through  the  frosty  air.  The  captain  said,  "  Where  is  the 
surgeon?"  Tom  McGregor  appeared,  and  as  he  had  to  certify 
to  the  death  bent  down  over  the  quivering  body. 

"My  God!  Mr.  Eivers,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  looking  up, 
"it  is  Peter  Lamb." 

"  Hush,  Tom,"  whispered  Eivers,  "  no  one  knows  him  ex 
cept  Josiah."  They  walked  away  together  while  Eivers  told  of 
Josiah's  recognition  of  Lamb.  (t  Keep  silent  about  his  name, 
Tom,"  and  then  went  on  to  speak  of  the  man's  revengeful 
story  about  the  Colonel,  to  Tom's  horror.  "I  am  sorry  you 
told  me,"  said  the  young  surgeon. 

"  Yes,  I  was  unwise  —  but  — " 

"  Oh,  let  us  drop  it,  Mr.  Eivers.  How  is  John  ?  I  have  been 
three  times  to  see  him  and  he  twice  to  see  me,  but  always  he  was 
at  the  front,  and  as  for  me  we  have  six  thousand  beds  and  too 
few  surgeons,  so  that  I  could  not  often  get  away.  Does  he 
know  of  this  man's  fate?" 

"No  — and  he  had  better  not." 

"  I  agree  with  you.  Let  us  bury  his  name  with  him.  So 
he  shot  our  dear  Colonel  —  how  strange,  how  horrible ! " 

"  He  believed  that  he  did  shoot  him,  and  as  the  ball  came 
from  the  lines  of  the  71st  when  the  fight  was  practically  at 
an  end,  it  may  be  true.  He  certainly  meant  to  kill  him." 

"  What  an  entirely,  hopelessly  complete  scoundrel ! "  said 
McGregor. 


WESTWAYS  427 

"Except/'  said  Elvers,  "that  he  did  not  want  his  mother 
to  know  how  he  died." 

"  Human  wickedness  is  very  incomplete,"  said  the  surgeon. 
"I  wonder  whether  the  devil  is  as  perfectly  wicked  as  we  are 
taught  to  believe.  You  think  this  fellow,  my  dear  old  school 
master,  was  not  utterly  bad.  Now  about  wanting  his  mother 
not  to  know  —  I  for  my  part  — " 

"Don't,  Tom.  Leave  him  this  rag  of  charity  to  cover  a 
multitude  of  sins.  Now,  I  must  leave  you.  See  John  soon  — 
he  is  wasted  by  unending  and  dangerous  work  —  with  malaria 
too,  and  what  not;  see  him  soon.  He  is  a  splendid  replica  of 
the  Colonel  with  a  far  better  mind.  I  wish  he  were  at  home." 

"  And  I  that  another  fellow  were  at  home.     Good-bye." 

McGregor  called  at  John's  tent,  but  learned  that  at  six  he 
had  gone  on  duty  to  the  trenches. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

LATE  on  Christmas  morning  of  this  year  1864,  Penhallow 
with  no  duty  on  his  hands  saw  with  satisfaction  the  peace 
making  efforts  of  the  winter  weather.  A  thin  drizzle  of  cold 
rain  froze  as  it  fell  on  the  snow ;  the  engineers'  lines  were  quiet. 
There  was  no  infantry  drill  and  the  raw  recruits  had  rest  from 
the  never  satisfied  sergeants,  while  unmanageable  accumulations 
of  gifts  from  distant  homes  were  being  distributed  to  well- 
pleased  men.  Penhallow,  lazily  at  ease,  planned  to  spend 
Christmas  day  with  Tom  McGregor  or  Roland  Blake.  The 
orders  of  a  too  energetic  Colonel  of  his  own  Corps  summarily 
disposed  of  his  anticipated  leisure.  The  tired  and  disgusted 
Captain  dismounted  at  evening,  and  limping  gave  his  horse  to 
Josiah. 

"What  you  done  to  Hoodoo,  Master  John?  He's  lame  — 
and  you  too." 

Without  answering  John  Penhallow  turned  to  greet  Tom 
McGregor.  "  Happy  Christmas,  Tom." 

"  You  don't  look  very  happy,  John,  nor  that  poor  beast  of 
yours.  But  I  am  glad  to  have  caught  you  at  last."  The  far 
away  thunder  of  the  siege  mortars  was  heard  as  he  spoke. 
"  Nice  Christmas  carol  that !  Have  you  been  to-day  in  the 
graveyards  you  call  trenches?" 

"  No,  I  was  not  on  duty.  I  meant  to  ride  over  to  your 
hospital  to  have  a  home-talk  and  exchange  grumbles,  but  just 
as  I  mounted  Colonel  Swift  stopped  with  a  smartly  dressed 
aide-de-camp.  I  saluted.  He  said,  '  I  was  looking  for  an  en 
gineer  off  duty.  Have  the  kindness  to  ride  with  me."' 

"  By  George !  Tom,  he  was  so  polite  that  I  felt  sure  we  were 

428 


WESTWAYS  429 

on  some  unpleasant  errand.  I  was  as  civil,  and  said,  'With 
pleasure.'  A  nice  Christmas  celebration!  Well,  I  have  been 
in  the  saddle  all  day.  It  rained  and  froze  to  sleet  on  the  snow, 
and  the  horses  slipped  and  slid  most  unpleasantly.  About  noon 
we  passed  our  pickets.  I  was  half  frozen.  When  we  got  a  bit 
further,  the  old  colonel  pulled  up  on  a  hillside  and  began  to 
ask  me  questions,  how  far  was  that  bridge,  and  could  I  see 
their  pickets,  and  where  did  that  cross-road  go  to.  The  aide 
was  apparently  ornamental  and  did  not  do  anything  but  guess. 
I  answered  with  sublime  confidence,  as  my  mind  got  thawed 
a  little  and  the  colonel  made  notes/' 

"  I  know,"  laughed  Tom.  "  Must  never  admit  in  the  army 
that  you  don't  know.  You  can  always  write  '  respectfully  re 
ferred  '  on  a  document.  When  General  Grant  visits  our 
hospital  and  asks  questions  ten  to  the  minute,  I  fire  back 
replies  after  quick  consultation  with  my  imagination.  It 
works.  He  assured  the  surgeon-in-charge  that  I  was  a  remark 
ably  well-informed  officer.  So  was  he !  " 

"  Come  in,"  said  Penhallow.  "  I  am  cold  and  cross.  I  ex 
pect  a  brevet  at  least  —  nothing  less;  but  if  Comstock  or 
Duane  reads  the  colonel's  notes,  I  may  get  something  else." 

"  Have  you  had  a  fall,  John  ?  You  are  pretty  dirty,  and 
that  horse  with  the  queer  name  is  dead  lame.  How  did  you 
come  to  grief  ?  " 

"  I  had  an  adventure." 

"Really!     What  was  it?" 

"  Tell  you  another  time  —  it  was  a  queer  one.  Here 's  Mr. 
Rivers."  He  was  followed  by  a  contraband  black  with  a 
basket. 

"  Happy  Christmas,  boys.  I  bring  you  a  Christmas  turkey 
and  a  plum-pudding  from  your  aunt,  John." 

He  was  made  heartily  welcome  and  was  in  unusually  good 
spirits,  as  Josiah  took  possession  of  these  unexpected  rations 
and  John  got  into  dry  clothes. 


430  WESTWAYS 

They  fell  to  familiar  talk  of  Westways.  "I  fear,"  said 
Rivers.,  "that  the  colonel  is  worse.  I  am  always  sure  of  that 
when  Mrs.  Penhallow  writes  of  him  as  cheerful." 

"  My  father,"  said  Tom,  "  tells  me  he  has  days  of  excessive 
unnatural  gaiety,  and  then  is  irritable  and  cannot  remember 
even  the  events  of  yesterday." 

"  Can  you  account  for  it,  Tom  ?  "  asked  John. 

"No,  but  he  ought  to  take  dad's  advice  and  see  Professor 
Askew.  It  makes  him  furious.  Oh!  if  we  were  all  at  home 
again,  Mr.  Rivers  —  and  out  of  this  row.  You  are  limping, 
John  —  what 's  wrong  ?  Let  me  see  that  leg." 

"No,  you  don't,"  cried  John  merrily.  "You  promised  to 
get  even  with  me  after  our  famous  battle  —  I  don't  trust  you. 
I  bruised  my  knee  —  that's  all." 

"Well,  I  can  wait." 

They  talked  of  home,  of  the  village  and  its  people,  and  at 
their  meal  of  the  way  they  proposed  to  conduct  the  spring  cam 
paign.  Many  bloodless  battles  were  thus  fought  over  mess- 
tables  and  around  camp-fires. 

"  For  my  part,"  said  John,  "  I  want  to  get  done  with  this 
mole  business  and  do  anything  in  the  open —  Oh,  here  comes 
Blake!  You  know  our  clergyman  from  home,  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Rivers?  No  I  Well,  then  I  make  you  the  Christmas  gift  of 
a  pleasant  acquaintance.  Sit  down,  there  is  some  turkey  left 
and  plum-pudding." 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  McGregor,"  said  Blake.  "  I  know  Mr. 
Rivers  by  sight  —  oh,  and  well,  too  —  he  was  back  of  the  line 
in  that  horrid  mix-up  at  the  Bloody  Angle  —  he  was  with  the 
stretcher-bearers." 

"Where,"  said  McGregor,  "he  had  no  business  to  be." 

Rivers  laughed  as  he  rarely  did.  "  It  may  seem  strange  to 
you  all,  but  I  am  never  so  happy  " —  he  came  near  to  saying  so 
little  unhappy  — "  as  when  I  am  among  the  dying  and  the 
wounded,  even  if  the  firing  is  heavy." 


WESTWAYS  431 

Blake  looked  at  the  large-featured  face  and  the  eyes  that, 
as  old  McGregor  said,  were  so  kindly  and  so  like  mysterious 
jewels  as  they  seemed  to  radiate  the  light  that  came  from 
within.  His  moment  of  critical  doubt  passed,  and  he  felt  the 
strange  attractiveness  which  Rivers  had  for  men  and  the  in 
fluential  trust  he  surely  won. 

"  I  prefer,"  remarked  McGregor,  "  to  operate  when  bullets 
are  not  flying." 

"But  you  do  not  think  of  them  then,"  returned  Rivers,  "I 
am  sure  you  do  not." 

"  No,  I  do  not,  but  they  seem  to  be  too  attentive  at  times.  I 
lost  a  little  finger-tip  back  of  Round  Top.  We  had  thirteen 
surgeons  killed  or  wounded  that  day.  The  Rebs  left  eighty 
surgeons  with  their  wounded.  We  sent  them  home  after  we 
got  up  enough  help  from  the  cities." 

"  It  was  not  done  always,"  said  Penhallow.  "  More  ?s  the 
pity." 

"We  had  Grant  at  the  hospital  yesterday,"  said  the  doctor. 
"He  comes  often." 

"  Did  you  notice  his  face  ?  "  queried  Rivers. 

"  The  face  ?     Not  particularly  —  why  ?  " 

"  He  has  two  deep  lines  between  the  eyes,  and  crossing  them 
two  lateral  furrows  on  the  forehead.  In  Sicily  they  call  it  the 
'cross  of  misfortune/* 

"  Then  it  has  yet  to  come,"  said  Blake. 

"  Late  or  early,"  said  Rivers,  "  they  assure  you  it  will  come. 
Some  men  find  their  calamities  when  young,  some  when  they 
are  old,  which  is  better." 

"  Let  us  be  thankful  that  we  have  no  choice,"  said  Blake. 

"  May  God  spare  you  now  and  always,"  said  Rivers.  The 
habitual  melancholy  he  dreaded  took  possession  of  his  face  as 
he  rose,  adding,  "  Come,  Tom,  we  must  go." 

"  And  I,"  said  Blake. 

"  Happy  Christmas  to  you  all  —  and  a  happier  New  Year 


432  WESTWAYS 

than  1864."  They  left  John  to  the  letters  Josiah  placed  on 
the  table. 

The  night  was  now  clear  and  the  stars  brilliant,  as  Penhal- 
low  saw  Blake  mount  his  horse  and  Elvers  and  McGregor  walk 
away  to  find  the  hospital  ambulance.  "  There  at  least  is 
peace/'  said  John,  as  he  watched  the  Pleiades  and  the  North 
Star,  symbol  of  unfailing  duty.  "Well,  it  is  as  good  as  a  ser 
mon,  and  as  it  belongs  there  on  eternal  guard  so  do  I  belong 
here  for  my  little  day;  but  I  trust  the  spring  will  bring  us 
peace,  for  —  oh,  my  God!  —  I  want  it  —  and  Westways."  He 
went  in  to  his  hut  and  stirred  the  fire  into  roaring  companion 
ship. 

Meanwhile  Rivers,  walking  with  McGregor,  said,  "Did  the 
figure  of  that  doomed  wretch  haunt  you  as  we  talked  to 
John?" 

"  It  did  indeed !  I  had  never  before  been  ordered  to  certify 
to  a  death  like  that,  and  I  hated  it  even  before  I  bent  down  and 
knew  who  it  was." 

"  How  far  was  he  accountable,  Tom  ?  " 

"  Don't  ask  me  riddles  like  that,  Mr.  Rivers.  It  is  a  subject 
I  have  often  thought  about.  It  turns  up  in  many  forms  — 
most  terribly  in  the  cases  of  the  sins  of  the  fathers  being  loaded 
on  the  sons.  How  far  is  a  man  accountable  who  inherits  a 
family  tendency  to  insanity?  Should  he  marry?  If  he  falls 
in  love,  what  ought  he  to  do  or  not  do?  It  is  a  pretty  grim 
proposition,  Mr.  Rivers." 

"  He  should  not  marry,"  replied  the  clergyman,  and  both 
moved  on  in  silent  thought. 

"  Oh,  here  is  our  ambulance,"  said  Tom.  They  got  in, 
Rivers  reflecting  how  war,  parent  of  good  and  evil,  had  made  of 
this  rough  country-bred  lad  a  dutiful,  thoughtful  man. 

Presently  McGregor  said,  "  When  we  were  talking  of  our  un 
pleasant  duties,  I  meant  to  tell  you  that  one  of  them  is  to 


WESTWAYS  433 

tattoo  a  D  —  for  deserter  —  on  the  breast  of  some  poor  home 
sick  fellow.  After  that  his  head  is  shaved;  then  the  men  laugh 
as  he  is  drummed  out  of  the  lines  —  and  it 's  disgusting." 

"  I  agree  with  you/'  said  Kivers. 

John  lighted  a  fresh  pipe  and  sat  down  by  the  fire  to  get 
some  Christmas  pleasure  from  the  home  letter  in  Leila's  large 
and  clear  script.  His  aunt  had  ceased  to  write  to  him,  and  had 
left  to  her  niece  this  task,  insisting  that  it  should  be  punctually 
fulfilled.  This  time  the  letter  was  brief. 

"Of  course,  my  dear  John,  you  know  that  I  am  under  orders 
to  write  to  you  once  a  week." — "  Is  that  explanatory  ?  "  thought 
the  reader. —  The  letter  dealt  with  the  town  and  mills,  the  sad 
condition  of  Colonel  Penhallow,  his  aunt's  messages  and  her 
advice  to  John  in  regard  to  health.  The  horses  came  in  for 
the  largest  share  of  a  page.  And  why  did  he  not  write  more 
about  himself?  She  did  not  suppose  that  even  winter  war  con 
sisted  only  in  drawing  maps  and  waiting  for  Grant  to  flank 
Lee  out  of  Petersburg  and  Eichmond.  "  War,"  wrote  the  young 
woman,  "  must  be  rather  a  dull  business.  Have  you  no  adven 
tures?  Tom  McGregor  wrote  his  father  that  you  had  a  thrill 
ing  experience  in  the  trenches  lately.  The  doctor  spoke  of  it 
to  Aunt  Ann,  who  was  surprised  I  had  never  mentioned  it. 
Don't  dry  up  into  an  old  regular  like  the  inspecting  major  of 
ordnance  at  the  mills. 

"Expectantly  yours, 

"LEILA  GREY. 
"A  Happy  Christmas,  Jack." 

"  Oh,  Great  Scott !  "  laughed  John.  He  read  it  again.  Not 
a  word  of  herself,  nor  any  of  her  rides,  or  of  the  incessant  read 
ing  she  liked  to  discuss  with  him.  Some  dim  suspicion  of  the 
why  of  this  impersonal  letter  gently  flattered  the  winged  hope- 


434  WESTWAYS 

fulness  of  love.  "  Well,  I  think  I  shall  punish  you,  Miss  Grey, 
for  sending  me  a  Christmas  letter  like  that."  Oh,  the  dear  old 
playmate,  the  tease,  the  eyes  full  of  tenderness  when  the  child's 
shaft  of  satire  hurt !  He  laughed  gaily  as  he  went  through  the 
historically  famous  test  of  courage  in  snuffing  the  flaring  candle 
wicks  with  his  fingers.  The  little  cabin  was  warm,  the  night 
silent,  not  a  sound  came  from  the  lines  a  mile  away  to  disturb 
the  peaceful  memories  of  home  within  the  thirty  thousand 
pickets  needed  to  guard  our  far-spread  army.  Men  on  both 
sides  spoke  this  Christmas  night,  for  they  were  often  near  and 
exchanged  greetings  as  they  called  out,  "Halloa,  Johnny  Eeb, 
Merry  Christmas ! " 

"Same  to  you,  Yank,"  and  during  that  sacred  night  there 
was  the  truce  of  God  and  overhead  the  silence  of  the  solemn 
stars. 

As  the  young  Captain  became  altogether  comfortable,  his 
thoughts  wandered  far  afield  —  always  at  last  to  Josiah's 
pansy,  the  many-masked  Leila,  and  behind  her  pretty  feminine 
disguises  the  serious-minded  woman  for  whom,  as  he  smilingly 
consulted  his  fancy,  he  found  no  flower  emblem  to  suit  him. 
The  letter  he  read  once  more  represented  many  Leilas.  Could 
he  answer  all  of  them  and  abide  too  by  the  silence  he  meant  to 
preserve  until  the  war  was  over?  The  imp  of  mischief  was  at 
his  side.  There  was  no  kind  of  personal  word  of  herself  in  the 
letter,  except  that  he  was  ordered  to  talk  of  John  Penhallow  and 
his  adventures.  He  wrote  far  into  the  Christmas  night: 

"  DEAR  LEILA  :  To  hear  is  to  obey.  I  am  to  write  of  my 
self  —  of  adventures.  Nearness  to  death  in  the  trenches  is  an 
every-second-day  adventure  enough  —  no  one  talks  of  it.  Tom 
was  ill-advised  to  report  of  me  at  home.  I  used  to  dream  of 
the  romance  of  war  when  I  was  a  boy.  There  is  very  little  ro 
mance  in  it,  and  much  dirt,  awful  horrors  of  the  dead  and 
wounded,  of  battles  lost  or  won,  and  waste  beyond  conception. 


WESTWAYS  435 

After  a  big  fight  or  wearying  march  one  could  collect  material 
for  a  rummage-sale  such  as  would  rout  Aunt  Ann's  ideal  of  an 
amusing  auction  of  useless  things. 

"  My  love  to  one  and  all,  and  above  all  to  the  dear  Colonel 
who  is  never  long  out  of  my  mind. 

"Yours  truly, 

"JOHN  PENHALLOW." 

"  I  put  on  this  separate  sheet  for  you  alone  the  adventure  you 
ask  for.  It  is  the  only  one  worth  telling,  and  came  to  me  this 
Christmas  morning.  It  was  strange  enough. 

"An  old  Colonel  caught  me  as  I  was  about  to  visit  Tom 
McGregor  at  the  hospital.  I  was  disgusted,  but  he  wanted  an 
engineer.  He  got  me,  alas!  We  rode  far  to  our  left  over  icy 
snow-crust.  To  cut  my  tale  short,  after  we  passed  our  outlying 
pickets  and  I  had  answered  a  dozen  questions,  he  said,  '  Can 
you  see  their  pickets  ? '  I  said,  '  No,  they  are  half  a  mile  away 
on  the  far  side  of  a  creek  in  the  woods.  That  road  leads  to  a 
bridge;  they  may  be  behind  the  creek/ 

"'Do  you  think  it  fordable?' 

" '  I  do  not  know.'  Like  a  fool,  I  said,  ( I  will  ride  down  the 
road  and  get  a  nearer  look/  He  would  be  much  obliged.  I 
rode  Hoodoo  down  an  icy  hill  with  a  sharp  lookout  for  their 
pickets.  As  I  rode,  I  slipped  my  revolver  out  and  let  it  hang 
at  my  wrist.  I  rode  on  cautiously.  About  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
from  the  creek  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  had  gone  far  enough. 
The  creek  was  frozen,  as  I  might  have  known,  and  the  colonel 
too.  As  I  checked  Hoodoo  a  shot  rang  out  from  a  clump  of 
pines  on  my  right  and  a  horseman  leaped  into  the  road  some 
twenty  yards  in  front  of  me.  I  fired  and  missed  him.  He 
turned  and  rode  pretty  fast  toward  the  bridge,  turning  to  fire  as 
he  went.  I  like  a  fool  rode  after  him.  We  exchanged  shot 
after  shot.  He  was  on  the  farther  end  of  the  bridge  when  he 
pulled  up  his  horse  and  stopped  short.  He  held  up  a  hand;  I 


436  WESTWAYS 

felt  for  my  sword,  having  emptied  my  revolver.  It  was  rather 
ridiculous.  By  George!  the  man  was  laughing.  We  were  not 
fifty  feet  apart  when  I  reined  up  Hoodoo.  We  had  each  fired 
six  shots  in  vain  —  I  had  counted  his. 

"  He  called  out,  e  A  rather  pretty  duel,  sir.  Don't  ride  over 
the  bridge/  A  picket  shot  from  the  left  singing  over  my  head 
rather  emphasized  his  warning.  'It  would  not  be  fair  —  you 
would  ride  right  into  my  pickets.'.  It  was  an  unusual  bit  of 
chivalry. 

"  I  called  out,  '  Thank  you,  I  hope  I  have  not  hit  you.  May 
I  ask  your  name  ? 9 

"  'I  am  at  your  service.  I  am  ' —  here  Captain  John  wrote 
merrily  — '  Scheherazade  who  says  — 

"  Being  now  sleepy,  the  Caliph  will  hear  the  amazing  sequel 
to-morrow  night  or  later. 

"  There  you  have  my  adventure  all  but  the  end.  If  I  do  not 
hear  more  of  Miss  Grey's  personal  adventures  she  will  never  — 
never,  hear  the  name. 

"JOHN  PENHALLOW." 

He  laughed  outright  as  he  closed  and  directed  the  envelope. 
I  suppose,  he  wrote  in  his  diary,  that  as  there  are  several  Leilas, 
there  are  also  several  John  Penhallows,  and  I  am  just  now  the 
mischievous  lad  who  was  so  much  younger  than  Miss  Grey. 
Would  she  laugh  over  the  lesson  of  his  letter  or  be  angry,  or 
cry  a  little  and  feel  ill-treated,  or  —  and  even  that  was  possible 
—  say  it  was  of  no  moment  who  the  man  was.  He  felt  the 
gaiety  which  in  some  men  who  have  not  the  mere  brute  courage 
of  the  bull-dog  is  apt  to  follow  for  many  hours  the  escape  from 
a  great  danger.  The  boylike  mischief  of  his  letter  was  in  part 
due  to  some  return  of  the  cheerful  mood  which  possessed  him 
after  the  morning's  risks.  He  went  out  to  question  the  night 
of  the  weather.  As  he  looked  over  the  snow  and  then  up  at 
the  mighty  clock-work  of  the  stars,  he  responded  slowly  to  the 


WESTWAYS  437 

awe  this  silentness  of  immeasurable  forces  was  apt  to  produce; 
a  perfect  engine  at  the  mills  in  noiseless  motion  always  had 
upon  him  the  same  effect.  As  he  moved,  his  knee  reminded 
him  of  the  morning's  escape.  When  he  rode  away  from  the 
bridge,  with  attentions  from  the  enemy's  pickets  following  and 
came  near  the  waiting  colonel,  his  horse  came  down  and  like  his 
rider  suffered  for  the  fall  on  frozen  ground. 

There  was  just  then  for.  a  time  less  work  than  usual  for  the 
engineers,  and  he  had  begun  to  feel  troubled  by  the  fact  that 
two  weeks  had  gone  by  since  Leila  wrote,  without  a  home  letter. 
Then  it  came  and  was  brief : 

"  DEAR  JOHN  :  I  have  truly  no  better  and  no  worse  news  to 
send  about  dear  Uncle  Jim  and  this  saddened  home.  To  be 
quite  frank  with  you,  your  letter  made  me  realize  what  is  hardly 
felt  as  here  in  our  home  we  become  used  to  war  news.  I 
thought  less  of  your  mischievous  attempt  to  torment  my  curios 
ity  than  of  your  personal  danger,  and  yet  I  know  too  well  what 
are  the  constant  risks  in  your  engineer  duties,  for  I  have  found 
among  Uncle  Jim's  books  accounts  of  the  siege  of  Sevastopol. 
As  to  your  naughty  ending,  I  do  not  care  who  the  man  was  — 
why  should  I  ?  I  doubt  if  you  really  know. 

"  I  am, 

"Your  seriously  indifferent 

"LEILA  GREY. 

"  P.S.  I  am  ashamed  to  admit  that  I  reopened  my  letter  to 
tell  you  I  fibbed  large.  Please  not  to  tease  me  any  more." 

He  replied  at  once: 

"  DEAR  LEILA  :  I  am  off  to  the  front  as  usual.  The  man 
was  Henry  Grey.  An  amazing  encounter!  I  had  never  seen 
him,  as  you  may  know.  I  did  not  wait  to  reply  to  him  because 


438  WESTWAYS 

the  Rebel  pickets  were  not  so  considerate  as  their  colonel.  I 
recalled  Uncle  Jim's  casual  mention  of  Henry  Grey  as  a  rather 
light-minded,,  quixotic  man.  I  am  glad  he  is,  but  imagine  what 
a  tragedy  failed  to  materialize  because  two  men  were  awkward 
with  the  pistol.  But  what  a  strange  meeting  too!  It  is  not 
the  only  case.  A  captain  I  know  took  his  own  brother  prisoner 
last  month ;  the  Rebel  would  not  shake  hands  with  him.  Do  not 
tell  Aunt  Ann  —  or  rather,  do  what  seems  best  to  you.  I  trust 
you,  of  course.  The  encounter  made  me  want  to  know  your 
uncle  in  some  far-off  happier  day. 

"  In  haste,  Yours, 

PENHALLOW." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

WHEN"  late  in  March  Grant  about  to  move  left  the  en 
gineer  brigade  at  City  Point,  the  need  to  corduroy  the 
rain-soaked  roads  called  some  of  the  corps  to  the  front,  and 
among  them  John  Penhallow.  As  usual  when  unoccupied  they 
were  set  free  to  volunteer  for  staff  duty.  It  thus  chanced  that 
Penhallow  found  himself  for  a  time  an  extra  aide  to  General 
John  Parke. 

The  guarded  outer  lines  of  the  defences  of  Petersburg  in 
cluded  forests  with  here  and  there  open  spaces  and  clumps  of 
trees.  More  than  a  half  mile  away  from  the  enemy,  on  rising 
ground,  amid  bushes  and  trees,  lay  the  army  corps  of  General 
Parke.  It  was  far  into  the  night.  The  men  were  com 
fortably  asleep,  for  on  this  second  of  April,  the  air  was 
no  longer  chilly  and  there  were  no  tents  up.  In  the  mid-centre 
of  the  corps-line  behind  the  ridge  a  huge  fire  marked  the  head 
quarters.  As  the  great  logs  blazed  high,  they  cast  radiating 
shadows  of  tree  trunks,  which  were  and  were  not  as  the  fire 
rose  or  fell.  Horses  tied  to  the  trees  moved  uneasily  when  from 
far  and  near  came  the  clamour  of  guns.  Now  and  then  a  man 
sat  up  in  the  darkness  and  listened,  but  this  was  some  new 
recruit.  For  the  most  of  the  sleepers  the  roar  of  guns  was 
less  disturbing  than  the  surly  mosquitoes  and  the  sonorous 
trumpeting  of  a  noisy  neighbour.  Aides  dismounted  near 
the  one  small  tent  in  the  wood  shadows,  and  coming  out 
mounted  horses  as  tired  as  the  riders  and  rode  away  into  the 
night.  Here  and  there  apart  black  servants  and  orderlies  slept 
the  deep  sleep  of  irresponsibility  and  among  them  Josiah.  Be 
side  the  deserted  fire  John  Penhallow  sat  smoking.  A  hand 
fell  on  his  shoulder. 

439 


440  WESTWAYS 

"Halloa,  Blake!"  he  said,  "where  did  you  come  horn?" 

"I  am  on  Wright's  staff.  I  am  waiting  for  a  note  I  am  to 
carry.  There  will  be  no  sleep  for  me  to-night.  We  shall  at 
tack  at  dawn  —  a  square  frontal  attack  through  slashes, 
chevaux-de-f rises  and  parapets;  but  the  men  are  keen  for  it, 
and  we  shall  win." 

"I  think  so  —  the  game  is  nearly  played  out/' 

"I  am  sorry  for  them,  Penhallow." 

"And  I.  I  was  thinking  when  you  came  of  the  pleasant 
West  Point  friends  who  may  be  in  those  woods  yonder,  and  of 
the  coming  agony  of  that  wonderful  crumbling  host  of  brave 
men,  and  of  my  uncle's  friend,  Eobert  Lee.  I  shall  be  a  happy 
man  when  I  can  take  their  hands  again." 

"  How  many  will  be  left  ?  "  said  Blake. 

"  God  knows  —  we  shall,  I  hope,  live  to  be  proud  of  them/' 

"  My  friend  Francis  sees  always  the  humorous  side  of  war  — 
I  cannot." 

"  It  does  have  —  oh,  very  rarely  —  its  humorous  side,"  re 
turned  Penhallow,  "but  not  often  for  me.  His  mocking  way 
of  seeing  things  is  doubly  unpleasant  because  no  man  in  the 
army  is  more  in  earnest.  This  orchestra  of  snoring  men  would 
amuse  him." 

As  Blake  sat  down,  he  said,  "  I  wonder  if  they  are  talking 
the  language  of  that  land  —  that  nightly  bourne  from  which 
we  bring  back  so  little.  Listen  to  them !  " 

"  That 's  so  like  you,  Blake.  I  was  reflecting  too  when  you 
came  on  the  good  luck  I  had  at  the  North  Anna  when  you 
pulled  me  out.  Mark  Eivers  once  said  that  I  was  good  at  mak 
ing  acquaintances,  but  slow  at  making  friendships." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Blake,  understanding  him  readily.  "I 
am  somewhat  like  you." 

The  solemnity  of  the  night  and  of  the  fate-laden  hours  had 
opened  for  a  minute  the  minds  of  two  men  as  reserved  and 


WESTWAYS  441 

reticent  as  are  most  well-bred  Americans,  who  as  a  rule  lack 
the  strange  out-spoken  frankness  of  our  English  kin. 

"  Oh !  here  is  my  summons/'  said  Blake.  "  Good  luck  to 
you,  Penhallow.  I  have  about  the  closing  of  this  war  a  kind 
of  fear  I  have  never  had  before." 

"  That  is  natural  enough,"  returned  Penhallow,  "  and  I  fancy 
it  is  not  uncommon.  Let  us  part  with  a  more  pleasant  thought. 
You  will  come  and  shoot  with  me  at  Grey  Pine  in  the  fall? 
Bye-bye." 

Blake  rode  away.  His  friend  deep  in  thought  and  unable  to 
sleep  watched  the  dying  fire.  The  night  hours  ran  on.  Obe 
dient  to  habit  he  wound  his  watch.  "Not  asleep/'  said  a 
pleasant  voice.  He  rose  to  face  the  slight  figure  and  gently 
smiling  face  of  General  Parke. 

"What  time  is  it,  Penhallow?" 

"Four  o'clock,  sir." 

"I  have  sent  back  Captain  Blake  with  a  word  to  General 
Wright,  but  he  will  have  too  long  a  ride.  I  want  you  to  carry 
this  same  request.  By  taking  the  short  cut  in  front  of  our 
lines,  you  can  get  there  in  a  third  of  the  time.  You  will  keep 
this  side  of  our  pickets  to  where  our  line  turns,  then  go  through 
them  and  down  the  slope  a  bit.  For  a  short  distance  you  will 
be  near  the  clump  of  trees  on  the  right.  If  it  is  picketed — • 
there  are  no  pickets  nearer  —  you  will  have  to  ride  hard.  Once 
past  the  angle  of  their  line  you  are  safe.  Am  I  clear  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  sir.  There  is  some  marshy  ground  —  I  climbed 
a  tree  and  looked  it  over  yesterday  —  it  won't  stop  the  men, 
but  may  slow  a  horse." 

"I  see.     Here  is  my  note." 

Penhallow  tucked  it  in  his  belt  and  roused  Josiah.  "  See 
to  the  girth,"  he  said.  "  Is  Hoodoo  in  good  order  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.     Where  you  going,  Master  John  ?  " 

"  A  little  errand.     Make  haste." 


442  WESTWAYS 

"I  know  those  little  errands/'  said  the  black.  "The  good 
Lord  care  for  him,"  he  murmured,  as  the  man  he  loved  best 
was  lost  in  the  darkness. 

He  was  aware  of  the  great  danger  of  his  errand  and  was  at 
once  in  that  state  of  intensity  of  attention  which  sharpens  every 
sense.  He  rode  for  the  fourth  of  a  mile  between  the  long  lines 
of  infantry  now  astir  here  and  there,  and  then  an  officer  saw 
him  through  their  picket-line.  "  Good  luck  to  you ! "  he  said. 
"  I  think  the  Rebs  have  no  outlying  pickets,  but  the  woods  are 
full  of  them." 

Penhallow  rode  down  a  slight  incline,  and  remembering  that 
the  marsh  lower  down  might  be  difficult  turned  aside  and  came 
on  a  deep  gully.  The  night  was  still  dark,  but  a  faint  glow 
to  eastward  made  haste  desirable.  The  gully,  as  he  rode  be 
side  it,  flattened  out,  but  at  once  he  felt  that  his  horse  was 
in  trouble  on  marshy  ground.  He  dismounted  and  led  him, 
but  always  the  better  footing  lay  nearer  to  the  clump  of  trees. 
He  made  up  his  mind  to  ride  for  it.  While  on  foot  he  had 
been  as  yet  hardly  visible.  A  shot  from  the  salient  group  of 
trees  decided  him.  He  mounted  and  touched  Hoodoo  with  the 
spur.  The  horse  bounded  forwards  too  quickly  to  sink  in  the 
boggy  ground.  Then  a  dozen  shots  told  the  rider  he  had  been 
seen.  Something  like  the  feeling  of  a  blow  from  a  stick  was 
felt  as  his  left  arm  fell  with  gripped  reins,  and  the  right  arm 
also  dropped.  Hoodoo  pitched  forward,  rose  with  a  gallant 
effort,  and  sinking  down  rolled  to  left  upon  the  rider's  leg. 

The  horse  lay  still.  Penhallow's  first  sensation  was  aston 
ishment;  then  he  began  to  make  efforts  to  get  free.  His  arms 
were  of  no  use.  He  tried  to  stir  his  horse  with  the  spur  of 
the  free  foot.  It  had  no  effect.  Something  must  be  wrong 
with  him.  He  had  himself  a  feeling  of  weakness  he  could  not 
comprehend,  aware  that  he  had  no  wound  of  the  trunk.  His 
useless  arms  made  all  effort  vain,  and  the  left  foot  under  the 
weight  of  the  horse  began  to  feel  numb.  The  position  struck 


WESTWAYS  443 

him  as  past  help  until  our  people  charged.  He  thought  of 
Francis's  axiom  that  there  was  nothing  so  entirely  tragic  as  to 
be  without  some  marginalia  of  humour.  The  lad  smiled  at  his 
use  of  the  word.  His  own  situation  appealed  to  him  as  ridicu 
lous —  a  man  with  a  horse  on  him  waiting  for  an  army  to  lift 
it  off. 

The  left  elbow  began  to  recover  from  the  early  insensibility 
of  shock  and  to  be  painful.  Then  in  the  dim  light,  as  he  lifted 
his  head,  he  was  aware  of  a  Eebel  soldier  in  front  covering  him 
with  a  revolver.  Penhallow  cried  out  with  promptness,  "  I 
surrender  —  and  I  am  shot  through  both  arms/' 

The  soldier  said,  "You  are  not  worth  taking  —  guess  you'll 
keep  till  we  lick  the  Yanks,"  and  walking  around  the  helpless 
officer  he  appropriated  his  revolver. 

"  Can  you  get  my  horse  up  ?  "  said  John. 

"  Horse  up !     I  want  your  boots." 

"Well,  pull  them  off  — I  can't." 

"  Oh,  don't  you  bother,  I'll  get  them."  With  this  he  knelt 
down  and  began  on  the  boot  which  belonged  to  the  leg  projecting 
beneath  the  horse.  "Darn  it!  They're  just  my  size."  As 
he  tugged  at  it,  Hoodoo  dying  and  convulsed  struck  out  with 
his  fore  legs  and  caught  the  unlucky  soldier  full  in  the  belly. 
The  man  gave  a  wild  cry  and  staggering  back  fell. 

Penhallow  craned  over  the  horse's  body  and  broke  into 
laughter.  It  hurt  his  arm,  but  he  gasped  with  fierce  joy, 
"  Francis  would  call  him  a  freebooter."  Then  he  fell  back  and 
quite  helpless  listened.  Unable  to  turn  his  head,  he  heard  be 
hind  him  the  wild  rush  of  men.  Leaping  over  horse  and  man 
they  went  by.  He  got  a  look  to  right  and  left.  They  tore 
through  the  slashes,  dropping  fast  and  facing  a  furious  fusillade 
were  lost  to  sight  in  the  underbrush.  "  By  George !  they  've 
won,"  he  exclaimed  and  fell  back.  "  They  must  have  carried 
the  parapet."  He  waited.  In  about  a  half  hour  a  party  of 
men  in  grey  went  by.  An  officer  in  blue  cried  out,  "Up  the 


444  WESTWAYS 

hill,  you  beggars ! "  More  of  the  grey  men  followed  —  a  bat 
tle-grimed  mob  of  hundreds. 

"Halloa!"  called  Penhallow.  "  Get  this  horse  up.  Put 
your  hand  in  my  pocket  and  you  will  find  fifty  dollars/'  They 
stopped  short  and  a  half  dozen  men  lifted  the  dead  animal. 
"  Thank  you,  set  me  on  my  feet/'  said  Penhallow.  "  Empty 
my  pockets  —  I  can't  use  my  arms."  They  did  it  well,  and 
taking  also  his  watch  went  on  their  way  well  pleased. 

John  stood  still,  the  blood  tingling  in  his  numb  foot. 
"  Halloa ! "  he  cried,  as  the  stretcher-bearers  and  surgeons  came 
near.  A  headquarters  surgeon  said,  "We  thought  you  were 
killed.  Can  you  walk?" 

"  No  —  hit  in  both  arms  —  why  the  deuce  can't  I  walk  ?  " 

"  Shock,  I  suppose." 

A  half  hour  later  he  was  in  a  hospital  tent  and  a  grim  old 
army  surgeon  handling  his  arms.  "Right  arm  flesh-wound  — 
left  elbow  smashed.  You  will  likely  have  to  lose  the  arm." 

"  No,  I  won't,"  said  Penhallow,  "  I  'd  as  leave  die." 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense.     They  all  say  that.     See  you  again." 

"You  will  get  ten  dollars,"  said  John  to  a  hospital  or 
derly,  "if  you  will  find  Captain  Blake  of  General  Wright's 
staff." 

"  I  '11  do  it,  sir." 

Presently  his  arms  having  been  dressed,  he  was  made  com 
fortable  with  morphia.  At  dusk  next  morning  his  friend  Blake 
sat  down  beside  his  cot.  "  Are  you  badly  hurt  ?  "  he  said.  A 
certain  tenderness  in  the  voice  was  like  a  revelation  of  some 
qualities  unknown  before. 

"  I  do  not  know.  For  about  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  am 
suffering  pain  —  I  mean  constant  pain,  with  a  devilish  variety 
in  it  too.  The  same  ball,  I  believe,  went  through  some  muscle 
in  the  right  arm  and  smashed  my  left  elbow.  It 's  a  queer  ex 
perience.  The  surgeon-in-charge  informed  me  that  I  would 
probably  lose  the  arm.  The  younger  surgeon  says  the  ball  will 


WESTWAYS  445 

become  what  he  calls  encysted.  They  probed  and  could  n't  find 
it.  Is  n't  that  Josiah  I  hear  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  will  bring  him  in." 

In  a  moment  they  came  back.  "My  God!  Master  John,  I 
been  looking  for  you  all  night  and  this  morning  I  found  Hoodoo 
dead.  Did  n't  I  say  he  'd  bring  you  bad  luck.  Oh,  my !  — 
are  you  hurt  bad  ?  " 

"  Less  noise  there/'  said  an  assistant  surgeon,  "  or  get  out  of 
this." 

"  He  '11  be  quiet/'  said  Blake,  "  and  you  will  have  the  decency 
to  be  less  rough."  The  indignant  doctor  walked  away. 

"  Poor  Hoodoo  —  he  did  his  best,"  murmured  John.  "  Get 
me  out  of  this,  Blake.  It's  a  hell  of  suffering.  Take  me  to 
Tom  McGregor  at  City  Point." 

"  I  will,  but  now  I  must  go.  General  Parke  hopes  you  are 
doing  well.  You  will  be  mentioned  in  his  despatches." 

"  That  is  of  no  moment  —  get  me  to  McGregor.  Hang  the 
flies  — I  can't  fight  them." 

John  never  forgot  the  ambulance  and  the  rough  railway  ride 
to  City  Point,  nor  his  pleasure  when  at  rest  in  the  officers' 
pavilion  he  waited  for  his  old  playmate.  As  I  write  I  see,  as 
he  saw,  the  long  familiar  ward,  the  neat  cots,  the  busy  orderlies. 
He  waited  with  the  impatience  of  increasing  pain.  "Well, 
Tom,"  he  said,  with  an  effort  to  appear  gay,  "here's  your 
chance  at  last  to  get  even." 

McGregor  made  brief  reply  as  he  uncovered  the  wounded 
joint.  Then  he  said  gravely,  "A  little  ether  —  I  will  get  out 
the  ball." 

"  No  ether,  Tom,  I  can  stand  it.     Now  get  to  work." 

"  I  shall  hurt  you  horribly." 

"  No  ether,"  he  repeated.     "  Go  on,  Tom." 

McGregor  sat  beside  him  with  a  finger  on  the  bounding  pulse 
and  understood  its  meaning  and  the  tale  it  told.  "  It  will  not 


446  WESTWAYS 

be  long,  John,"  and  then  with  attention  so  concentrated  as  not 
even  to  note  the  one  stir  of  the  tortured  body  or  to  hear  the 
long-drawn  groan  of  pain,  he  rose  to  his  feet.  "  All  right, 
John  —  it 's  only  a  slug  —  lucky  it  was  not  a  musket  ball." 
He  laid  a  tender  hand  on  the  sweating  brow,  shot  a  dose  of 
morphia  into  the  right  arm,  and  added,  "  You  will  get  well 
with  a  stiff  joint.  Now  go  to  sleep.  The  right  arm  is  sound, 
a  flesh-wound." 

"  Thanks,"  said  John,  "  we  are  even  now,  Tom.  Captain 
Blake  telegraphed  your  father,  Tom  —  but  write,  please." 

"To  whom,  John?" 

"  To  Leila  —  but  do  not  alarm  them." 

"I  will  write.  In  a  week  or  two  you  must  go  home.  That 
is  the  medicine  you  need  most.  You  will  still  have  some  pain, 
but  you  will  not  lose  the  arm." 

"  Thank  you  —  but  what  of  the  army  ?  I  am  a  bit  confused 
as  to  time.  Parke  attacked  on  the  second  of  April,  I  think. 
What  day  is  this?" 

"  Oh,  they  got  out  of  Petersburg  that  night  —  out  of  Rich 
mond  too.  Lee  is  done  for  —  a  day  or  two  will  end  it." 

"  Thank  God,"  murmured  John,  "  but  I  am  so  sorry  for 
Lee." 

"  Can't  say  I  am." 

"  Oh,  that  blessed  morphia !  " 

"  Well,  go  to  sleep  —  I  will  see  you  again  shortly.  I  have 
other  fellows  to  look  after.  In  a  few  minutes  you  will  be  easy. 
Draw  the  fly-nets,  orderly." 

Of  all  that  followed  John  Penhallow  in  later  years  remem 
bered  most  distinctly  the  half  hour  of  astonishing  relief  from 
pain.  As  his  senses  one  by  one  went  off  guard,  he  seemed  to 
himself  to  be  watching  with  increase  of  ease  the  departure  of 
some  material  tormentor.  In  after  years  he  recalled  with  far 
less  readiness  the  days  of  varied  torment  which  required  more 
and  more  morphia.  Why  I  know  not,  the  remembrance  of 


WESTWAYS  447 

pain  as  time  goes  by  is  far  less  permanent  than  that  of  relief 
or  of  an  hour  of  radiant  happiness.  Long  days  of  suffering 
followed  as  the  tortured  nerves  recorded  their  far-spread  effects 
in  the  waste  of  the  body  and  that  failure  of  emotional  control 
which  even  the  most  courageous  feel  when  long  under  the 
tyranny  of  continuous  pain.  McGregor  watched  him  with 
anxiety  and  such  help  as  was  possible.  On  the  tenth  of  April 
John  awakened  after  a  night  of  assisted  sleep  to  find  himself 
nearly  free  from  pain.  Tom  came  early  into  the  ward. 

"  Good  news,  John/5  he  said.  "  Lee  has  surrendered.  You 
look  better.  Your  resignation  will  be  accepted,  and  I  have  a 
leave  of  absence.  Economy  is  the  rule.  We  are  sending  the 
wounded  north  in  ship-loads.  Home !  Home !  old  fellow,  in  a 
week." 

The  man  on  the  cot  looked  up.  "  You  have  a  letter,  I  see," 
and  as  he  spoke  broke  into  childlike  tears,  for  so  did  long  suf 
fering  deal  with  the  most  self-controlled  in  those  terrible  years, 
which  we  do  well  to  forgive,  and  to  remember  with  pride  not 
for  ourselves  alone.  The  child-man  on  the  bed  murmured, 
"  Home  was  too  much  for  me." 

The  surgeon  who  loved  him  well  said,  "Read  your  letter  — 
you  are  not  the  only  man  in  this  ward  whom  pain  has  made  a 
baby.  Home  will  complete  your  cure  —  home !  " 

"  Thank  you,  Tom."  He  turned  to  the  letter  and  using  the 
one  half-useful  hand  opened  it  with  difficulty.  What  he  first 
felt  was  disappointment  at  the  brevity  of  the  letter.  He  was 
what  Blake  called  home-hungry.  With  acute  perception,  being 
himself  a  homeless  man,  Blake  made  his  diagnosis  of  that  form 
of  heart-ache  which  too  often  adds  a  perilously  depressing 
agency  to  the  more  material  disasters  of  war.  Pain,  fever,  the 
inevitable  ward  odours,  the  easier  neighbour  in  the  next  bed 
who  was  of  a  mind  to  be  social,  the  flies  —  those  Virginia  flies 
more  wily  than  Lee's  troopers  —  and  even  trifling  annoyances 
made  Penhallow  irritable.  He  became  a  burden  to  hospital 


448  WESTWAYS 

stewards  and  over-worked  orderlies,  and  now  the  first  look  at 
Leila's  letter  disturbed  him,  and  as  he  read  he  became  indig 
nant: 

"  DEAR  JOHN  :  Mr.  Blake's  telegram  telling  us  of  your 
wound  caused  us  some  anxiety,  which  was  made  less  by  Dr. 
McGregor's  somewhat  hastily  written  letter.  Aunt  Ann  thought 
it  was  excusable  in  so  busy  a  man.  Poor  Uncle  Jim  on  hearing 
it  said,  'Yes,  yes  —  why  didn't  John  write  —  can't  be  much 
the  matter/  This  shows  you  his  sad  failure.  He  has  not  men 
tioned  it  since. 

"  It  is  a  relief  to  us  to  know  that  you  were  not  dangerously 
hurt.  It  seems  as  if  this  sad  war  and  its  consequences  were 
near  to  end.  Let  us  hear  soon.  Aunt  Ann  promises  to  write 
to  you  at  once. 

"Yours  truly, 

"LEILA  GREY." 

He  threw  the  letter  down,  and  forgetting  that  he  had  asked 
Blake  and  'the  doctor  not  to  alarm  his  people,  was  overcome  by 
the  coldness  of  Leila's  letter.  He  lay  still,  and  with  eyes  quite 
too  full  felt  that  life  had  for  him  little  of  that  which  once 
made  it  sweet  with  what  all  men  hold  most  dear.  He  would 
have  been  relieved  if  he  could  have  seen  Leila  when  alone  she 
read  and  read  again  McGregor's  letter,  and  read  with  fear  be 
tween  the  lines  of  carefully  guarded  words  what  he  would  not 
say  and  for  days  much  feared  to  say.  She  sat  down  and  wrote 
to  John  a  letter  of  such  tender  anxiety  as  was  she  felt  a  con 
fession  she  was  of  no  mind  to  make.  He  was  in  no  danger. 
Had  he  been,  she  would  have  written  even  more  frankly.  But 
her  trouble  about  her  uncle  was  fed  from  day  to  day  by  what 
her  aunt  could  not  or  would  not  see,  and  it  was  a  nearer  calam 
ity  and  more  and  more  distressing.  Then  she  sat  thinking 
what  was  John  like  now.  She  saw  the  slight  figure,  so  young 


WESTWAYS  449 

and  still  so  thoughtful,  as  she  had  smiled  in  her  larger  experi 
ence  of  men  when  they  had  sat  and  played  years  ago  with 
violets  on  the  hillside  of  West  Point.  No,  she  was  unprepared 
to  commit  herself  for  life,  for  would  he  too  be  of  the  same 
mind?  For  a  moment  she  stood  still  indecisive,  then  she  tore 
up  her  too  tender  letter  and  wrote  the  brief  note  which  so 
troubled  him.  She  sent  it  and  then  was  sorry  she  had  not 
obeyed  the  impulse  of  the  kindlier  hour. 

The  nobler  woman  instinct  is  apt  to  be  armed  by  nature  for 
defensive  warfare.  If  she  has  imagination,  she  has  in  hours 
of  doubt  some  sense  of  humiliation  in  the  vast  surrender  of 
marriage.  This  accounts  for  certain  of  the  cases  of  celibate 
women,  who  miss  the  complete  life  and  have  no  ready  traitor 
within  the  guarded  fortress  to  open  the  way  to  love.  Some 
such  instinctive  limitations  beset  Leila  Grey.  The  sorrow  of  a 
great,  a  nearer  and  constant  affection  came  to  her  aid.  To 
think  of  anything  like  love,  even  if  again  it  questioned  her, 
was  out  of  the  question  while  before  her  eyes  James  Penhallow 
was  fading  in  mind. 

John  Penhallow  was  shortly  relieved  by  McGregor's  order 
that  he  should  get  some  exercise.  It  enabled  him  to  escape 
the  early  surgical  visit  and  the  diverse  odours  of  surgical  dress 
ings  which  lingered  in  the  long  ward  while  breakfast  was  being 
served.  There  were  more  uneasy  sleepers  than  he  in  the  ward 
and  much  pain,  and  crippled  men  with  little  to  look  forward 
to.  The  suffering  he  saw  and  could  not  lessen  had  been  for 
John  one  of  the  depressing  agencies  of  this  hospital  life.  The 
ward  was  quiet  when  he  awoke  at  dawn  of  April  13th.  He 
quickly  summoned  an  orderly  and  endured  the  daily  humilia 
tion  of  being  dressed  like  a  baby.  He  found  Josiah  waiting 
with  the  camp-chair  at  the  door  as  he  came  out  of  the  ward. 

"How  you  feeling,  Master  John?" 

"Bather  better.  What  time  is  it?  That  Reb  stole  my 
watch."  Even  yet  it  was  amusing.  He  laughed  at  the  remem- 


450  WESTWAYS 

brance  of  having  been  relieved  by  the  prisoners  of  purse  and 
watch. 

For  Josiah  to  extract  his  own  watch  was  as  McGregor  said 
something  like  a  surgical  operation.  "  It 's  not  goin',  Master 
John.  It's  been  losing  time  —  like  it  wasn't  accountable. 
What's  it  called  watch  for  if  it  don't  watch?" 

This  faintly  amused  John.  He  said  no  more,  but  sat  en 
joying  the  early  morning  quiet,  the  long  hazy  reaches  of  the 
James  River,  the  awakening  of  life  here  and  there,  and  the 
early  stir  among  the  gun-boats. 

"  Get  me  some  coffee,  Josiah,"  he  said.  "  I  am  like  your 
watch,  losing  time  and  everything  else." 

Josiah  stood  over  him.  His  unnatural  depression  troubled 
a  simple  mind  made  sensitive  by  a  limitless  affection  and  dog- 
like  power  to  feel  without  comprehending  the  m?oods  of  the 
master. 

"  Captain  John,  you  was  say  in'  to  me  yesterday  you  was  most 
unfortunate.  I  just  went  away  and  kept  a  kind  of  thinkin' 
about  it." 

"Well,  what  conclusion  did  you  come  to?"  He  spoke 
wearily. 

"  Oh,  I  just  wondered  if  you  'd  like  to  change  with  me  — 
guess  you  wouldn't  for  all  the  pain?" 

Surprised  at  the  man's  reflection,  John  looked  up  at' the  black 
kindly  face.  "  Get  me  some  coffee." 

"  Yes,  sir  —  what 's  that  ?  "  The  morning  gun  rang  out  the 
sunrise  hour.  "What's  that,  sir?"  The  flag  was  being 
hoisted  on  the  slope  below  them.  "  It 's  stopped  at  half-mast, 
sir !  Who 's  dead  now  ?  " 

"Go  and  ask,  Josiah."    McGregor  came  up  as  he  spoke. 

"  The  President  was  killed  last  night,  John,  by  an  assassin ! " 

"Lincoln  killed!" 

"  Yes  —  I  will  tell  you  by  and  by  —  now  this  is  all  we  know. 
I  must  make  my  rounds.  We  leave  to-morrow  for  home." 


WESTWAYS  451 

John  sat  alone.  This  measureless  calamity  had  at  once  on 
the  thoughtful  young  soldier  the  effect  of  lessening  the  influ 
ences  of  his  over-sensitive  surrender  to  pain  and  its  attendant 
power  to  weaken  self-control.  Like  others,  in  the  turmoil  of 
war  he  had  given  too  little  thought  to  the  Promethean  torment 
of  a  great  soul  chained  to  the  rock  of  duty  —  the  man  to  whom 
like  the  Christ  "the  common  people  listened  gladly/'  He 
looked  back  over  his  own  physical  suffering  with  sense  of  shame 
at  his  defeat,  and  sat  up  in  his  chair  as  if  with  a  call  on  his 
worn  frame  to  assert  the  power  of  a  soul  to  hear  and  answer 
the  summons  of  a  great  example. 

"  Thank  you,  Josiah,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "  No  coffee  is  like 
yours  to  set  a  fellow  up."  A  greater  tonic  was  acting.  "We 
go  home  to-morrow." 

"  That 's  good.     Listen,  sir  —  what  >s  that  ?  " 
"  Minute  guns,  Josiah.     Have  you  heard  the  news  ?  " 
"Yes,  sir  —  it's  awful;  but  we  are  going  home  to  West- 
ways." 


CHAPTEE  XXX 

AS  the  trains  went  northward  crowded  with  more  or  less 
damaged  officers  and  men,  John  Penhallow  in  his  faded 
engineer  uniform  showed  signs  of  renewed  vitality.  He  chatted 
in  his  old  companionable  way  with  the  other  home-bound  vol 
unteers,  and  as  they  went  through  Baltimore  related  to  Mc 
Gregor  with  some  merriment  his  bloodless  duel  with  Mrs. 
Penhallow's  Rebel  brother  Henry.  The  doctor  watched  him 
with  the  most  friendly  satisfaction  and  with  such  pride  as  a 
florist  may  have  in  his  prospering  flowers.  The  colour  of 
health  was  returning  to  the  pale  face  and  there  was  evidently 
relief  from  excessive  pain.  He  heard,  too,  as  they  chatted,  of 
John's  regrets  that  his  simple  engineer  dress  was  not  as  neat 
as  he  would  have  desired  and  of  whether  his  aunt  would  dis 
like  it.  Nearing  the  station  of  Westways  Crossing,  John  fell 
into  a  laughing  account  of  his  first  arrival  and  of  the  meeting 
with  Leila.  The  home-tonic  was  of  use  and  he  was  glad  with 
gay  gladness  that  the  war  was  over. 

As  the  train  stopped,  he  said  as  he  got  out,  "There  is  no 
carriage  —  you  telegraphed,  McGregor?" 

"Yes,  I  did,  but  the  service  is,  I  fancy,  snowed  under  just 
now  with  messages.  I  will  walk  on  and  have  them  send  for 
you/' 

"  No,"  said  John,  "  I  am  quite  able  to  walk.     Come  along." 

"  Are  you  really  able  ?  " 

«  Yes  —  we  '11  take  it  easy." 

"There  isn't  much  left  of  you  to  carry  what  remains." 

"  My  legs  are  all  right,  Tom."  He  led  the  way  through  the 
woods  until  they  came  out  on  the  avenue.  "  Think  of  it,  Tom, 

452 


WESTWAYS  453 

—  it  is  close  to  nine  years  since  first  I  left  Grey  Pine  for  the 
Point." 

In  the  afternoon  of  this  sunny  day  late  in  April  the  Colonel 
sat  on  the  porch  with  his  wife.  Below  them  on  the  step  Eivers 
was  reading  aloud  the  detailed  account  of  Lincoln's  death. 
Leila  coming  out  of  the  house  was  first  to  see  the  tall  thin 
figure  in  dark  undress  uniform.  She  was  thankful  for  an  un- 
watched  moment  of  ability  to  gain  entire  self-command.  It 
was  needed.  She  helped  herself  by  her  cry  of  joyous  recogni 
tion. 

"Aunt  Ann!  Aunt  Ann!"  she  cried,  "there  is  Dr.  Mc 
Gregor  and  —  and  John  and  Josiah."  The  aunt  cast  a  look 
of  anxiety  at  the  expressionless  face  of  James  Penhallow,  as 
he  rose  to  his  feet,  saying,  "  Why  was  n't  I  told  ?  " 

"We  did  not  know,  sir,"  said  Eivers,  dropping  the  paper  as 
he  went  down  the  steps  to  meet  the  new-comer. 

Then  the  wasted  figure  with  the  left  arm  in  a  sling  was  in 
Ann  Penhallow's  embrace. 

"  My  God !  "  he  said,  "  but  it's  good  to  be  at  home."  As  he 
spoke  he  turned  to  the  Colonel  who  had  risen. 

"  Got  hit,  John  ?  It  runs  in  the  family.  Once  had  a  Sioux 
arrow  through  my  arm.  Glad  to  see  you.  Want  to  be  fed 
up  a  bit.  Lord!  but  you're  lean."  He  said  no  more,  but  sat 
down  again  without  appearance  of  interest. 

Eivers  made  John  welcome  with  a  pleasant  word,  and  Leila 
coming  forward  took  his  hand,  saying  quietly,  "We  hardly 
looked  for  you  to-day,  but  it  is  none  too  soon."  Then  she 
turned  to  McGregor,  "We  have  much  to  thank  you  for.  You 
will  stay  to  dine?" 

John,  still  too  sensitive,  was  troubled  as  he  realized  his  uncle's 
condition,  and  felt  that  there  was  something  in  Leila's  manner 
which  was  unlike  that  of  the  far-remembered  Leila  of  other 
days.  She  had  urged  McGregor  to  stay  and  dine,  and  then 
added,  "But,  of  course,  that  pleasure  must  wait  —  you  will 


454  WESTWAYS 

want  to  see  your  father.     He  is  so  proud  of  you  —  as  we  all 
are." 

"  That  is  a  pleasant  welcome,  Miss  Leila ;  and,  dear  Mrs. 
Penhallow,  I  do  not  want  a  carriage,  I  prefer  to  walk.  I  will 
see  you,  John,  and  that  lame  arm  to-morrow.  Good-bye,  Col 
onel." 

The  master  of  Grey  Pine  said,  "Nice  young  man!  Ann 
ought  to  kill  the  fatted  calf.  Tell  John  not  to  be  late  for 
dinner." 

"  It  is  all  right,  James,"  said  Mrs.  Ann,  "  all  right." 

Eivers  watched  with  pain  the  vacant  face  of  the  Colonel. 
This  mental  failure  constantly  recalled  the  days  of  anguish 
when  with  despair  he  had  seen  all  who  were  dear  to  him  one 
after  another  die  mentally  before  their  merciful  exit  from  life. 

"John  must  be  tired,"  he  said.  Leila,  who  noted  on  the 
young  soldier's  face  the  effect  of  sudden  realization  of  his  use 
less  state  said,  "Your  room  is  ready,  John." 

"  Yes,"  said  John,  "  I  should  like  to  rest  before  dinner." 

With  a  word  as  to  the  fatigue  of  his  journey,  Leila  followed 
him  into  the  well-remembered  hall. 

"  Good  heavens,  Leila.  It  seems  an  age  since  I  was  here. 
Send  up  Josiah.  I  am  like  a  baby  and  need  him  to  help  me." 

She  looked  after  him  pitifully  as  he  went  up  the  stairs. 
"  Surely,"  she  thought,  "  we  have  paid  dearly  our  debt  to  the 
country." 

He  came  down  at  six  o'clock,  still  in  his  undress  uniform, 
but  thinking  that  his  aunt  would  not  like  it.  In  a  day  or  two 
he  would  have  the  civilian  clothes  he  haji  ordered  in  Philadel 
phia.  He  need  have  had  no  such  anxiety;  she  was  in 
different  to  all  but  her  husband,  who  sat  at  table  speechless, 
while  Leila  and  John  too  consciously  manufactured  talk  of  the 
home  and  the  mills  —  and  the  ending  of  the  war.  After  the 
meal  Ann  began  her  patient  efforts  to  interest  the  Colonel  with 
a  game  of  cards  and  then  of  backgammon.  It  seemed  only  to 


WESTWAYS  465 

make  him  irritable,  and  he  said  at  last,  "  I  think  I  must  go  to 
bed." 

"Certainly,  dear/'  She  went  with  him  upstairs,  saying, 
"  Good-night,  children." 

"  She  will  not  return,  John.  This  is  what  goes  on  day  after 
day." 

"  It  is  very  sad  —  I  did  not  fully  comprehend  his  condi 
tion." 

"  He  is  often  far  worse,  and  complains  of  his  head  or  is  reso 
lutely  —  I  should  say  obstinately  —  bent  on  some  folly,  such  as 
walking  to  the  mills  and  advising  them.  Aunt  Ann  never  con 
tradicts  him  —  what  he  wants,  she  wants.  Not  the  most  rea 
sonable  opposition  is  of  any  use." 

"  Does  he  never  ride,  Leila  ?  " 

"Never,  and  is  vexed  when  Dr.  McGregor  calls  to  see  him 
and  advises  a  consultation.  Once  we  had  a  distressing  out 
break." 

"  And  yet,"  said  John,  "  there  should  have  been  other  advice 
long  ago.  Somehow  there  must  be." 

"  Mr.  Eivers  has  urged  it  and  made  him  angry ;  as  for  Aunt 
Ann,  she  sees  only  the  bright  side  of  his  case  and  humours  him 
as  she  would  a  sick  child." 

"  She  is  greatly  changed,  Leila.  I  hardly  know  how  to  state 
it.  She  has  a  look  of  —  well,  of  something  spiritual  in  her  face." 

"  Yes,  that  is  true.     Are  you  in  pain,  John  ?  "  she  added. 

"  Yes  —  not  in  great  pain,  but  enough.  For  two  weeks  I  did 
suffer  horribly." 

"John!  Oh,  my  poor  Jack!  We  never  knew  —  is  it  so 
bad?" 

"  Yes,  imagine  a  toothache  in  your  elbow  with  a  variety  of 
torments  in  the  whole  arm." 

"  I  can't  imagine.  I  never  had  a  toothache  —  in  fact,  I 
hardly  know  the  sensation  of  serious  pain." 

"Well,  I  broke  down  under  it,  Leila.     I  became  depressed 


456  WESTWAYS 

and  quite  foolishly  hopeless.  Some  day  I  will  tell  you  what 
helped  me  out  of  a  morass  of  melancholy." 

"  Tell  me  now/' 

"No,  I  must  go  to  bed.  I  am  getting  better  and  will  get 
off  with  a  stiff  elbow,  so  Tom  says.  At  first  they  talked  of 
amputation.  That  was  awful.  Good-night !  " 

It  was  none  too  soon.  She  was  still  unsure  of  herself,  and 
although  no  word  of  tender  approach  had  disturbed  her  as  he 
talked,  and  she  was  glad  of  that,  the  tense  look  of  pain,  the  re 
serve  of  his  hospital  confession  of  suffering  nearly  broke  down 
her  guarded  attitude.  As  he  passed  out  of  view  at  the  turn  of 
the  stairs,  she  murmured,  "  Oh,  if  only  Uncle  Jim  were  well." 

Josiah  came  at  the  call  of  the  bell.  She  detained  him.  She 
asked,  "  How  was  the  Captain  wounded  ?  No  one  wrote  of  how 
it  happened." 

"  Well,  missy,  he  would  ride  a  horse  called  Hoodoo  —  it  was 
just  the  bad  luck  of  that  brute  done  it."  Josiah's  account  was 
graphic  and  clear  enough.  John  Penhallow's  character  lost 
nothing  as  interpreted  by  Josiah. 

"  It  was  a  dangerous  errand,  I  suppose." 

"Yes,  Miss  Leila.  You  see,  when  they  know  about  a  man 
that  he  somehow  don't  mind  bullets  and  will  go  straight  to  where 
he's  sent,  they're  very  apt  to  get  him  killed.  At  the  first 
shot  he  ought  to  have  tumbled  off  and  played  possum  till  it 
was  dark." 

"But  then,"  said  Leila,  "he  would  have  been  too  late  with 
General  Parke's  message." 

"  Of  course,  Master  John  could  n't  sham  dead  like  I  would. 
—  I  don't  despise  bullets  like  he  does.  Once  before  he  had 
orders  to  go  somewhere,  and  couldn't  get  across  a  river.  He 
was  as  mad  as  a  wet  hen." 

"  A  wet  hen  —  delightful !     Did  he  do  it  ?  " 

"  Guess  you  don't  know  him !  When  Master  John  wants 
anything,  well,  he 's  a  terrible  wanter  —  always  was  that  way 


WESTWAYS  457 

even  when  he  was  a  boy  —  when  he  wants  anything,  he  gets  it." 

"  Indeed !  does  he  ?     I  think  he  is  waiting  for  you,  Josiah." 

The  black's  conclusive  summary  hardened  the  young  woman's 

heart.     She  sat  a  while  smiling,  then  took  up  a  book  and  failed 

to  become  interested. 

As  John  became  familiar  with  the  altered  life  of  a  household 
once  happy  and  in  pleasant  relation  to  the  outer  world,  he  felt 
as  Leila  had  done  the  depressing  influence  of  a  home  in  which 
the  caprices  of  an  invalid  life  were  constantly  to  be  considered. 
Meanwhile  his  own  spare  figure  gained  flesh,  and  on  one  sunny 
morning  —  he  long  remembered  it  —  he  was  rather  suddenly 
free  from  pain,  and  with  only  the  stiff  elbow  was,  as  McGregor 
described  it,  "  discharged  cured." 

For  some  time  he  had  been  feeling  that  in  bodily  vigour  and 
sense  of  being  his  normal  self  he  had  been  rapidly  gaining 
ground.  The  relief  from  the  thraldom  of  pain  brought  a  sud 
den  uplift  of  spirits  and  a  feeling  of  having  been  born  anew 
into  an  inheritance  of  renewed  strength  and  of  senses  sharpened 
beyond  what  he  had  ever  known.  A  certain  activity  of  hap 
piness  like  a  bodily  springtime  comes  with  such  a  convalescence. 
Ceasing  to  feel  the  despotism  of  self-attention,  he  began  to 
recover  his  natural  good  sense  and  to  watch  with  more  care  his 
uncle's  state,  his  aunt's  want  of  consideration  for  any  one  but 
James  Penhallow,  and  the  effect  upon  Leila  of  this  abnormal 
existence.  He  began  to  understand  that  to  surely  win  this  sad 
girl-heart  there  must  be  a  patient  siege,  and  above  all  something 
done  for  the  master  of  Grey  Pine.  He  recognized  with  love's 
impatience  the  beauty  of  this  young  life  amid  the  difficulties 
of  the  Colonel's  moods  and  Ann  Penhallow's  ill-concealed  jeal 
ousy.  A  great  passion  may  be  a  very  selfish  thing,  or  in  the 
nobler  natures  rise  so  high  on  the  wings  of  love  that  it  casts 
like  the  singing  lark  no  shadow  on  the  earth.  He  could  wait 
and  respect  with  patient  affection  the  sense  of  duty  which  per 
haps  —  ah !  that  perhaps  —  made  love  a  thing  which  must  wait 


458  WESTWAYS 

-yes,  and  wait  too  with  helpful  service  where  she  too  had 
nobly  served. 

When  the  day  came  for  his  first  venture  on  a  horse  and  he 
rode  through  the  young  leafage  of  June,  no  enterprise  seemed 
impossible.  How  could  he  be  of  use  to  her  and  these  dear  peo 
ple  to  whom  he  owed  so  much?  War  had  been  costly,  but  it 
had  taught  him  that  devotion  to  the  duty  of  the  hour  which  is 
one  of  the  best  lessons  of  that  terrible  schoolmaster.  There 
was,  as  he  saw  every  day,,  no  overruling  common  sense  in  the 
household  of  Grey  Pine,  and  no  apparent  possibility  of  reason 
able  control.  Just  now  it  was  worse  than  ever,  and  he  meant 
to  talk  it  over  with  the  two  McGregors.  With  Josiah  riding 
behind  him,  he  left  a  message  here  and  there  in  the  village, 
laughing  and  jesting,  with  a  word  of  sympathy  where  the 
war  had  left  its  cruel  memories.  He  had  been  in  the  little 
town  very  often  since  his  return,  but  never  before  when  free 
from  pain  or  with  the  pleasant  consciousness  that  he  had  it  in 
his  power  to  be  to  these  friends  of  his  childhood  what  the  Col 
onel  had  been.  He  talked  to  Joe  Grace,  left  a  message  for 
Pole's  son,  and  then  rode  on  to  his  appointment. 

He  sat  down  with  father  and  son  in  the  unchanged  sur 
roundings  of  the  untidy  office ;  even  the  flies  were  busy  as  before 
on  the  old  man's  tempting  bald  head. 

"Well,  John,"  said  the  doctor,  "what's  up  now?  The 
Squire  won't  see  me  at  all."  Tom  sat  still  and  listened. 

"  There  are  two  things  to  consider,  and  I  want  your  advice ; 
but,  first,  I  want  to  say  that  there  is  no  head  to  that  family. 
I  wonder  how  Leila  stands  it.  I  mean  that  your  advice  shall 
be  taken  about  a  consultation  with  Prof.  Askew." 

"You  want  my  advice?  Do  you,  indeed!  Mrs.  Penhallow 
will  ask  the  Colonel's  opinion,  he  will  swear,  and  the  matter 
is  at  an  end." 

ee  I  mean  to  have  that  consultation,"  said  John.  Tom 
laughed  and  nodded  approval. 


WESTWAYS  459 

"  It 's  no  use,  John,  none/'  said  the  older  man. 

"We  shall  see  about  that.  Do  you  approve?  —  that  is  my 
question." 

"  If  that 's  the  form  of  advice  you  want,  why,,  of  course  — 
yes  —  but  count  me  out." 

"  Count  me  in,  John,"  said  the  younger  surgeon.  "  I  know 
what  Askew  will  say  and  what  should  have  been  done  long  ago/' 

"  An  operation  ?  "  asked  his  father. 

"Yes,  sir,  an  operation." 

"Too  late!" 

"Well,"  said  John,  "he  gets  no  worse;  a  week  or  two  will 
make  no  difference,  I  presume." 

"  None,"  said  Dr.  McGregor. 

"  It  may,"  said  Tom. 

"Well,  it  may  have  to  wait.  Just  now  there  is  a  very 
serious  question.  Aunt  Ann  made  last  night  the  wild  sug 
gestion  that  the  Colonel  might  be  amused  if  we  had  one  of 
those  rummage-sales  with  which  she  used  to  delight  the  village. 
Uncle  Jim  at  once  declared  it  to  be  the  thing  he  would  like 
best.  Aunt  Ann  said  we  must  see  about  it  at  once.  Her 
satisfaction  in  finding  an  amusement  which  the  Colonel  fancied 
was  really  childlike.  Leila  said  nothing,  nor  did  I.  In  fact, 
the  proposal  came  about  when  I  happened  unluckily  to  say  what 
a  fine  chance  Uncle  Sam  had  for  a  rummage-sale  after  a  forced 
march  or  a  fight.  I  recall  having  said  much  the  same  thing 
long  ago  in  a  letter  to  Leila." 

"  Then  there 's  nothing  to  be  done  just  now,  John,"  remarked 
Tom  McGregor,  "  but  I  cannot  conceive  of  anything  more  likely 
to  affect  badly  a  disordered  brain." 

The  older  man  was  silent  until  John  asked,  "  Is  it  worth 
while  to  talk  to  Aunt  Ann  about  it  —  advise  against  it  ?  " 

"  Quite  useless,  John.  I  advise  you  and  Leila  quietly  to 
assist  your  aunt,  and  like  as  not  the  Colonel  may  forget  all 
about  it  in  a  day  or  two." 


460  WESTWAYS 

"  No,  Doctor.  To-day  he  had  Billy  up  with  him  in  the  attic 
bringing  down  whatever  he  can  find,  useful  or  useless/' 

With  little  satisfaction  from  this  talk,  John  rode  homeward. 
Sitting  in  the  saddle  at  the  post-office  door,  he  called  for  the 
mail.  Mrs.  Crocker,  of  undiminished  bulk  and  rosiness,  came 
out. 

"  How 's  your  arm,  Captain  ?  I  bet  it 's  more  use  than  mine. 
The  rheumatism  have  took  to  permanent  boarding  in  my  right 
shoulder  —  and  no  glory  like  you  got  to  show  for  it." 

"  I  could  do  without  the  glory ." 

"  No,  you  could  n't.  If  I  was  a  man,  I  'd  be  glad  to  swap ; 
you  've  got  to  make  believe  a  bit,  but  the  town 's  proud  of  you. 
I  guess  some  one  will  soon  have  to  look  after  them  Penhallow 
mills."  Mrs.  Crocker  put  a  detaining  hand  on  his  bridle  reins. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  John  absently,  glancing  well  pleased  over 
a  kind  letter  of  inquiry  from  General  Parke.  "Well,  what 
else,  Mrs.  Crocker?" 

"The  Colonel  quite  give  me  a  shock  this  morning.  He's 
not  been  here  —  no,  not  once  —  since  he  came  home.  Well,  he 
walked  in  quite  spry  and  told  me  there  was  to  be  a  rummage- 
sale  in  a  week,  and  I  was  to  put  up  a  notice  and  tell  everybody. 
Why,  Mr.  John,  he  was  that  natural.  He  went  away  laughing 
because  I  offered  to  sell  my  old  man  —  twenty-five  cents  a 
pound.  I  did  notice  he  don't  walk  right." 

"Yes,  I  have  noticed  that;  but  this  notion  of  a  rummage- 
sale  has  seemed  to  make  him  better.  Now,  suppose  you  let  my 
reins  go." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  John,  don't  be  in  such  a  hurry.  It 's  surely  a 
responsible  place,  this  post-office;  I  don't  ever  get  time  for  a 
quiet  talk." 

"Well,  Mrs.  Crocker,  now  is  your  chance." 

"  That 's  real  good  of  you.  I  was  wanting  to  ask  if  you 
ever  heard  anything  of  Peter  Lamb.  He  wrote  to  his  mother 
he  was  in  the  army,  and  then  that  was  the  end  of  it.  She  keeps 


WESTWAYS  461 

on  writing  once  a  week,,  and  the  letters  come  back  stamped 
'  not  found/  I  guess  he  's  wandering  somewhere." 

"Like  enough.  I  went  to  see  her  last  week,  but  I  could 
not  give  her  any  comfort.  She  couldn't  have  a  worse  thing 
happen  than  for  Peter  to  come  home/' 

"  Well,  Captain  John,  when  you  come  to  have  babies  of  your 
own,  you  '11  find  mothers  are  a  curious  kind  of  animal/' 

"  Mothers ! "  laughed  John.  "  I  hope  there  won't  be  more 
than  one.  Now,  I  really  must  go." 

"  Oh,  just  one  more  real  bit  of  news.  Lawyer  Swallow's 
wife  was  here  yesterday  with  another  man  to  settle  up  her  hus 
band's  business." 

"Is  he  dead?" 

"  They  say  so,  but  you  can't  believe  everything  you  hear. 
Now,  don't  hurry.  What  most  killed  Swallow  was  just  this: 
He  hated  Pole  like  poison,  and  when  he  got  a  five  hundred 
dollar  mortgage-grip  on  Pole's  pasture  meadow,  he  kept  that 
butcher-man  real  uneasy.  When  you  were  all  away,  Swallow 
began  to  squeeze  —  what  those  lawyers  call  { foreclose/  It 's 
just  some  lawyer  word  for  robbery." 

"  It 's  pretty  bad,  Mrs.  Crocker,  but  two  people  are  waiting  for 
you  and  this  is  n't  exactly  Government  business." 

"  Got  to  hear  the  end,  Captain." 

"  I  suppose  so  —  what  next  ?  "  Dixy  wondered  why  the  spur 
touched  him  even  lightly. 

"  Pole,  he  told  Mrs.  Penhallow  all  about  it,  and  she  was  n't  as 
glad  to  help  her  meat-man  as  she  was  to  bother  Swallow,  so  she 
took  over  the  mortgage.  When  the  Squire  first  came  home  from 
Washington  and  wasn't  like  he  was  later,  she  told  him,  of 
course.  Now  everybody  knows  Pole's  ways,  and  so  the  Squire 
he  says  to  me  —  he  was  awful  amused  — e  Mrs.  Crocker,  I  asked 
Mrs.  Penhallow  how  Pole  was  going  to  pay  her/  She  said  she 
did  put  that  at  Pole,  and  he  said  it  wouldn't  take  long  to  eat 
up  that  debt  at  Grey  Pine.  He  would  n't  have  dared  to  speak 


462  WESTWAYS 

like  that  to  your  aunt  if  she  had  n't  got  to  be  so  meek-like,  what 
with  war  and  bother/'  By  this  time  Dixy  was  with  reason  dis 
pleased  and  so  restless  that  Mrs.  Crocker  let  the  reins  drop,  but 
as  John  Penhallow  rode  away  she  cried,  "  The  price  of  meats  at 
Grey  Pine  has  been  going  up  ever  since,  until  Miss  Leila — " 
The  rest  was  lost  to  the  Captain.  He  rode  away  laughing  as  he 
reflected  on  what  share  of  Pole's  debt  he  was  to  devour. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE  bustle  and  folly  of  a  rummage-sale  was  once  in  every 
two  or  three  years  a  frolic  altogether  pleasant  to  quiet 
Westways.  It  enabled  Ann  Penhallow  and  other  wise  women 
to  get  rid  of  worn-out  garments  and  other  trash  dear  to  the 
male  mind.  When  Leila  complained  of  the  disturbing  ante 
cedents  of  a  rummage-sale,  Mrs.  Crocker,  contributive  of  un 
asked  wisdom,  remarked,  "  Men  have  habits,  and  women  don't ; 
women  have  blind  instincts.  You  '11  find  that  out  when  you  're 
married.  You  see  marriage  is  a  kind  of  voyage  of  discovery. 
You  just  remember  that  and  begin  early  to  keep  your  young 
man  from  storing  away  useless  clothes  and  the  like.  That's 
where  a  rummage-sale  comes  in  handy." 

Leila  laughed.  "  Why  not  sell  the  unsatisfactory  young  man, 
Mrs.  Crocker?" 

"  Well,  that  ain't  a  bad  idea/'  said  the  post-mistress  slyly,  "  if 
he 's  a  damaged  article  —  a  rummage-sale  of  husbands  not  up  to 
sample." 

"  A  very  useful  idea,"  said  the  young  woman.     "  Good-bye." 

In  the  afternoon  a  day  later,  Leila,  making  her  escape  from 
her  aunt's  busy  collections,  slipped  away  into  the  woods 
alone.  The  solitude  of  the  early  woodland  days  of  summer 
were  what  she  needed,  and  the  chance  they  gave  for  such 
tranquil  reflection  as  the  disturbance  and  restless  state  of  her 
home  just  now  made  it  rarely  possible  to  secure.  She  tried  to 
put  aside  her  increasing  anxiety  about  her  uncle  and  had  more 
difficulty  in  dealing  with  John  Penhallow  and  his  over-quiet 
friendliness.  She  thought  too  of  her  own  coldly-worded  letters 
and  of  the  suffering  of  which  she  had  been  kept  so  long  ig- 

463 


464  WESTWAYS 

norant.  He  had  loved  her  once;  did  he  now?  She  was  an 
noyed  to  hear  the  voice  of  Mark  Eivers. 

"  So,,  Leila,  you  have  run  away,  and  I  do  not  wonder.  This 
turmoil  is  most  distressing." 

"  Yes,  yes  —  and  everything  —  those  years  of  war  and  what 
it  has  brought  us  —  and  my  dear  Uncle  Jim  —  and  how  is  it  to 
end?  Let  us  talk  of  something  else.  I  came  here  to  be — well, 
to  see  if  I  could  find  peace  of  soul  and  what  these  silent  forests 
have  often  given  me,  strength  to  take  up  again  the  cares  and 
troubles  of  life."  He  did  not  excuse  his  intrusion  nor  seem  to 
notice  the  obvious  suggestions,  but  fell  upon  their  personal  ap 
plication  to  himself. 

"  They  have  never  done  that  for  me,"  he  said  sadly.  "  There 
is  some  defect  in  my  nature  —  some  want.  I  have  no  such 
relation  to  nature ;  it  is  speechless  to  me  —  mute,  and  I  never 
needed  more  what  I  fail  to  find  in  myself.  The  war  and  its 
duties  gave  me  the  only  entire  happiness  I  have  had  for  years." 
Then  he  added,  in  a  curiously  contemplative  manner,  "  It  does 
seem  as  if  a  man  had  a  right  to  some  undisturbed  happiness  in 
life.  I  must  go.  I  leave  you  to  the  quiet  of  the  woods." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  she  said,  "  I  am  sorry  that  you  are  able  to 
imply  that  you  have  never  known  happiness.  Surely  you  cannot 
mean  that."  It  was  all  she  could  say.  His  look  of  profound 
melancholy  hurt  her,  for  like  all  who  knew  Mark  Rivers  well, 
she  loved,  respected  and  admired  him. 

He  made  no  explanatory  reply,  but  after  a  brief  silence  said, 
"  I  must  go,  Leila,  where  there  are  both  duties  and  dangers  — 
not  —  no,  not  in  cities." 

"  I  trust  you  do  not  mean  to  leave  us  —  surely  not !  " 

"No,  not  yet  —  not  while  I  can  be  of  use  to  these  dear 
friends." 

As  she  moved  on  at  his  side  or  before  him,  he  saw  too  well 
the  easy  grace  of  her  strong  young  virgin  form,  the  great  blue 
eyes,  the  expressive  tenderness  of  features  which  told  of  dumb 


WESTWAYS  465 

sympathy  with  what  she  had  no  knowledge  to  understand.  He 
longed  to  say,  "  I  love  you  and  am  condemned  by  my  conscience 
to  ask  no  return."  It  would  only  add  to  his  unhappiness  and 
disturb  a  relation  which  even  in  its  incompleteness  was  dear 
to  him.  The  human  yearning  to  confess,  to  win  even  the  sad 
luxury  of  pity  beset  the  man.  In  his  constant  habit  of  intro 
spection,  he  had  become  unobservant  and  had  no  least  idea  that 
the  two  young  people  he  loved  so  well  were  nearing  what  was  to 
him  forever  impossible. 

"  Let  me  sit  down/'  he  said  unwilling  to  leave  her ;  "  I  am 
tired."  He  was  terribly  afraid  of  himself  and  shaken  by  a 
storm  of  passion,  which  left  his  sensitive  body  feeble. 

She  sat  down  with  him  on  a  great  trunk  wrecked  a  century 
ago.  "  Are  you  not  well  ?  "  she  asked,  observing  the  paleness 
of  his  face. 

"  No,  it  is  nothing.  I  am  not  very  well,  but  it  is  nothing 
of  moment.  Don't  let  it  trouble  you  —  I  am  much  as  usual. 
I  want,  Leila,  what  I  cannot  get  —  what  I  ought  not  to  get." 
Even  this  approach  to  fuller  confession  relieved  him. 

"What  is  there,  my  dear  Mr.  Eivers,  you  cannot  get?  Oh! 
you  are  a  man  to  envy  with  your  hold  on  men,  your  power  to 
charm,  your  eloquence.  I  have  heard  Dr.  McGregor  talk  of 
what  you  were  among  the  wounded  and  the  dying  on  the  firing- 
line.  Don't  you  know  that  you  are  one  of  God's  helpful  mes 
sengers,  an  interpreter  into  terms  of  human  thought  and  words 
of  what  men  need  to-day,  when — " 

"  No,  no,"  he  broke  in,  lifting  a  hand  of  dissenting  protest. 
The  flushed  young  face  as  she  spoke,  his  sense  of  being  nobly 
considered  by  this  earnest  young  woman  had  again  made  him 
feel  how  just  the  little  more  would  have  set  free  in  ardent  words 
what  he  was  honestly  striving  to  control. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear  Leila,  I  could  wish  I  were  all  you 
think  I  am;  but  were  it  all  true,  there  would  remain  things 
that  sweeten  life  and  which  must  always  be  forbidden  to  me." 


466  WESTWAYS 

He  rose  to  his  feet  once  again  master  of  his  troubled  soul.  "  I 
leave  you/'  he  said,  "and  your  tireless  youth  to  your  walk. 
We  cannot  have  everything,  I  must  be  contented  in  some  mo 
ment  of  self-delusion  to  half  believe  the  half  of  what  you  credit 
me  with." 

"  Then,"  cried  Leila,  laughing,  "  you  would  have  only  a 
fourth." 

"  Ah !  I  taught  you  arithmetic  too  well."  He  too  laughed 
as  he  turned  away.  Laughter  was  rare  with  him  and  to  smile 
frequent.  He  walked  slowly  away  to  the  rectory  and  for  two 
days  was  not  seen  at  Grey  Pine. 

Leila,  more  at  ease  and  relieved  by  the  final  gay  banter, 
strolled  into  the  solemn  quiet  of  the  pines  the  Squire 
had  so  successfully  freed  from  underbrush  and  left  in  royal 
solitude.  At  the  door  of  the  old  log-cabin  she  lay  down  on  the 
dry  floor  of  pine-needles.  The  quick  interchange  of  talk  had 
given  her  no  chance  to  consider,  as  now  she  reviewed  in  thoughtful 
illumination,  what  had  seemed  to  her  strange.  She  tried  to  recall 
exactly  what  he  had  said.  Of  a  sudden  she  knew,  and  was 
startled  to  know.  She  had  come  into  possession  of  the  power 
of  a  woman  innocent  of  intention  to  inflict  pain  on  a  strong 
and  high-minded  man.  A  lower  nature  might  have  felt 
some  sense  of  triumph.  It  left  her  with  no  feeling  but  the 
utmost  distress  and  pitiful  thinking  of  what  had  gone  wrong 
in  this  man's  life.  Once  before  she  had  been  thus  puzzled. 
The  relief  of  her  walk  was  gone.  She  gathered  some  im 
perfect  comfort  in  the  thought  that  she  might  not  have  been 
justified  in  her  conclusions  regarding  a  man  who  was  in  so  many 
ways  an  unexplained  personality. 

During  the  next  few  days  the  village  was  in  a  state  of  an- 
ticipative  pleasure  and  of  effort  to  find  for  the  rummage-sale 
articles  which  were  damaged  or  useless.  At  Grey  Pine  John 
and  Leila  Grey  were  the  only  unexcited  persons.  She  was  too 
troubled  in  divers  ways  to  enjoy  the  amusement  to  be  had  out 


WESTWAYS  467 

of  what  delighted  every  one  else  except  John  Penhallow.  To 
please  his  aunt  he  made  some  small  and  peculiar  offerings,  and 
daily  went  away  to  the  mills  to  meet  and  consult  with  the 
Colonel's  former  partners.  He  was  out  of  humour  with  his 
world,  saw  trouble  ahead  if  he  did  as  he  meant  to  do,  and  as 
there  was  an  east  wind  howling  through  the  pines,  his  wounded 
arm  was  recording  the  storm  in  dull  aches  or  sharp  twinges. 
He  smoked,  I  fear,  too  much  during  these  days  of  preparation 
for  the  rummage-sale,  and  rode  hard ;  while  Leila  within  the  dis 
mantled  house  was  all  day  long  like  the  quiet  steadying  fly 
wheel  in  some  noisy  machinery.  What  with  Billy  as  the 
over-excited  Colonel's  aide  and  her  aunt  aggrieved  by  a  word 
of  critical  comment  on  her  husband's  actions,  Leila  had  need  of 
all  the  qualities  required  in  a  household  where,  as  it  seemed 
to  her,  it  was  hard  to  keep  tongue  or  temper  quiet. 

Mr.  Elvers  towards  the  end  of  the  week  came  in  often,  and 
would,  of  course,  see  that  the  Sunday  school  hall  was  made 
ready  for  the  sale.  He  would  make  some  contributions  and 
help  to  arrange  the  articles  for  the  sale.  The  Colonel's  continu 
ity  of  childlike  interest  deceived  him  into  sharing  the  belief 
of  Ann  Penhallow,  who  was,  Leila  thought,  unreasonably 
elated.  Meanwhile  Leila  felt  as  a  kind  of  desertion  John's  suc 
cessive  days  of  absence.  Where  was  he?  What  was  he  doing? 
Once  she  would  have  asked  frankly  why  he  left  to  her  the  burden 
of  cares  he  ought  to  have  been  eager  to  share,  while  Mark 
Rivers  was  so  steadily  helpful.  When  Ann  Penhallow  asked 
him  to  act  as  salesman,  he  said  that  he  was  at  her  disposal. 
The  Colonel  declared  that  was  just  the  thing,  and  John  must 
uncover  and  announce  the  articles  to  be  sold.  He  said,  "  How 
long  ago  was  the  last  sale  ?  Was  n't  it  last  year  ?  " 

"No,  dear,  not  so  lately." 

"  I  must  have  forgotten.  Perhaps,  Eivers,  we  might  sell  a 
few  useless  people.  What  would  Leila  fetch  in  the  marriage 
market?"  Ann  somewhat  annoyed  said  nothing;  nor  did 


468  WESTWAYS 

Elvers  like  it.  The  Colonel  continued,  "  Might  sell  John  — 
badly  damaged/' 

"  I  must  go/'  said  Rivers.  "  I  have  my  sermon  to  think  over. 
I  mean  to  use  the  text  you  gave  me,  Leila,  some  two  weeks 
ago." 

Sunday  went  by,  and  Tuesday,  the  day  of  the  sale,  came  with 
a  return  of  the  east  wind  and  a  cold  downpour  of  rain. 
The  Colonel  and  Billy  were  busy  late  in  the  day ;  Mrs.  Ann  was 
tired;  while  John  in  some  pain  was  silent  at  dinner.  The  car 
riage  took  the  Colonel  and  his  wife  to  the  hall.  He  was  now 
quiet  and  answered  curtly  the  too  frequent  questions  about  how 
he  felt. 

"  We  will  send  back  for  you,  Leila,"  said  her  aunt. 

"  No,  I  want  to  walk  there  with  John." 

The  Captain  looked  up  surprised,  "  Why,  yes,  with  pleasure." 

She  came  down  in  her  rain-cloak.  "  Take  a  large  umbrella, 
John.  How  it  blows !  " 

As  they  set  off  in  the  face  of  a  rain-whipped  wind,  he  said, 
"  Take  my  arm,  Leila  —  the  other  side  —  the  sound  arm." 

"  You  were  in  pain  at  dinner,  John." 

"  It  is  my  familiar  devil,  the  east  wind,  but  don't  talk  of  it." 

She  understood  him,  and  returned,  "  I  will  not  if  you  don't 
wish  me  to  talk  of  it.  Where  have  you  been  all  these  uneasy 
days?" 

"  Oh,  at  the  mills.  Uncle  refuses  to  speak  of  business  and 
I  am  trying  to  understand  the  situation  —  some  one  must." 

"  I  see  —  you  must  explain  it  all  to  me  later." 

"I  will.  One  of  the  mill  men  of  my  Corps  needed  help. 
I  have  asked  Tom  to  see  him.  How  depressed  Mr.  Rivers  seems. 
Gracious,  how  it  rains !  " 

"Yes,  he  is  at  his  worst.  I  am  sorry  you  missed  his  ser 
mon  on  Sunday  —  it  was  great.  He  talked  about  Lincoln,  and 
used  a  text  I  gave  him  some  time  ago." 

"What  was  it?" 


WESTWAYS  469 

"  It  is  in  Exodus :  <  Ye  have  seen  what  I  did  unto  the  Egyp 
tians  and  how  I  bare  you  on  eagles'  wings,  and  brought  you 
unto  myself.' '; 

John's  ready  imagination  began  for  a  silent  moment  to  play 
with  the  words.  "  How  did  he  use  it,  Leila  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  told  the  preceding  story  briefly,  and  then  his  great 
seeking  eyes  wandered  a  little  and  he  said,  'Think  how  the 
uplift  of  God's  eagles'  wings  enlarged  their  horizon ! '  Then  he 
seemed  to  me  to  have  the  idea  that  they  might  not  comprehend, 
so  he  made  one  of  those  eloquent  pauses  and  went  on  to  say, 
'  You  can  all,  like  Lincoln,  rise  as  he  rose  from  the  lesser  things 
of  a  hard  life  to  see  more  widely  and  more  surely  the  duties 
of  life.  The  eagle-wings  of  God's  uplifting  power  are  for  you, 
for  me,  for  all  of  us.'  He  made  them  understand." 

"  I  am  sorry  I  missed  it.  I  spent  the  Sunday  morning  with 
my  engineer." 

"  Are  n't  you  getting  wet,  John  ?  " 

"No.     How  did  he  end?" 

"What  I  did  not  like  was  the  dwelling  on  Lincoln's  melan 
choly,  and  the  effort  it  must  have  cost  him  —  at  times.  It 
seemed  to  me,  John,  as  if  he  was  preaching  to  himself.  I 
wonder  if  clergymen  often  preach  to  themselves.  Some  of  us 
have  to.  The  sketch  of  Lincoln's  life  was  to  me  a  wonder  of 
terse  biography.  At  the  close  he  did  not  dwell  on  the  murder, 
but  just  said  — '  Then  —  and  then,  my  friends,  God  took  him  to 
himself.' " 

"  Thank  you,  Leila,  What  a  lot  of  wagons  —  we  must 
have  half  the  county  —  and  in  this  rain  too." 

"  Now,  John,  you  hate  this  affair,  and  so  do  I ;  but  the  West- 
ways  people  think  it  great  fun,  and  in  the  last  few  years  they 
have  had  very  little." 

" Ni  moi  non  plus,  Mademoiselle  Grey" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  said,  "  I  know,  John,  but  make  it  go  — 
make  it  gay,  John.  It  will  soon  be  over." 


470  WESTWAYS 

"  I  will  try."  They  left  their  wet  garments  in  an  empty 
outer  room  and  entering  by  a  side  door  stood  beside  the  raised 
platform  at  the  end  of  the  crowded  hall. 

Quite  a  hundred  villagers  or  farming  people,  young  and  old, 
filled  the  room,  and  the  air  was  oppressively  heavy.  At  one 
end  on  a  raised  platform  the  Colonel  was  seated,  and  near  by  his 
wife  well  pleased  to  see  him  smiling  as  he  recognized  here  and 
there  some  of  the  farmers  who  had  been  the  playmates  of  his 
youth.  John  stood  by  the  long  table  on  which,  covered  by  sheets, 
lay  the  articles  for  sale.  Rivers  came  forward  to  the  front  of 
the  platform,  leaving  Leila,  who  declined  to  sit  down,  at  one 
side  with  Mr.  Grace  and  the  two  McGregors. 

The  murmur  of  voices  ceased;  there  was  an  appearance  of 
expectant  attention.  Rivers  raised  a  hand,  and  said,  "  You 
are  all,  I  am  sure,  most  glad  to  welcome  the  friend  who  like 
others  among  you  has  paid  so  dearly  for  keeping  unbroken  the 
union  of  the  States."  Loud  applause  followed,  as  he  paused. 
"  An  occasion  like  this  brings  together  young  and  old  for  good- 
humoured  fun,  and  may  remind  you  of  a  similar  meeting  years 
ago.  This  is  to  be  a  rummage-auction  of  useful  things  out  of 
use,  and  of  useless  things.  If  you  will  explain  why  anybody 
wants  useless  things  I  shall  know  why  some  of  you  come  to 
hear  me  preach  or  " —  with  a  slight  pause  — "  my  friend,  Grace." 
Every  one  laughed,  and  John  and  Leila  alike  felt  that  Rivers 
had  struck  the  right  note. 

"  Captain  John  Penhallow  " —  loud  plaudits  — "  Captain  John 
Penhallow  will  mention  the  articles  for  sale.  Now,  as  you 
see,  they  are  all  hidden  —  some  of  them  I  have  never  seen. 
Whoever  makes  the  highest  bid  of  the  sale  for  the  most  useless 
article  will  collect  the  whole  product  —  the  whole  proceeds  of  the 
sale,  and" — he  laughed — "will  pay  it  over  to  the  girl  about 
to  be  married." 

This  was  really  great  fun,  and  even  John  felt  some  relief 
as  the  hall  rang  with  merry  laughter.  Only  Tom  McGregor  was 


WESTWAYS  471 

grave  while  lie  watched  the  Colonel.  As  Elvers  spoke,  Colonel 
Penhallow  stood  up,  swayed  a  little,  straightened  his  tall  figure, 
and  waving  Eivers  aside  said,  "I  shall  now  conduct  this  sale." 
This  was  only  a  pleasant  surprise  to  the  audience,  and  was  wel 
comed  with  noisy  hands. 

The  two  McGregors  exchanged  looks  of  anxious  alarm  as 
the  Colonel  said,  "  Now,  John ! "  Mrs.  Penhallow  smiled  ap 
proval. 

John  uncovered  a  corner  of  the  nearest  sheet  and  brought 
out  a  clock  without  hands.  "First  article!  Who'll  bid?  I 
think  the  hands  have  all  struck  like  the  mill-hands  down  East. 
Five  cents — do  I  hear  ten?  Going  —  gone/'  cried  the  Col 
onel. 

A  rag  doll  came  next  and  brought  a  penny.  There  was  high 
bidding  over  a  heavy  band-box.  When  it  went  for  half  a 
dollar  to  Mrs.  Crocker  and  was  found  to  contain  a  shrivelled 
pumpkin  of  last  year's  crop,  the  audience  wildly  congratulated 
the  post-mistress. 

John,  who  was  now  thoroughly  in  the  spirit  of  their  fmn, 
produced  two  large  apples.  "  Now  what  daughter  of  Eve  will 
bid,"  said  the  elated  Colonel.  Leila  laughing  bid  fifty  cents. 
"  Going  —  gone." 

"  Look  out  for  the  serpent,  Miss  Grey,"  said  Grace. 

Leila  handed  the  apples  to  a  small  girl,  who  losing  no  time 
followed  Eve's  remote  example.  "  Oh,  mother ! "  she  cried, 
it's  got  a  five-dollar  piece  in  it  —  most  broke  my  new  tooth." 

"  The  root  of  all  evil,"  said  Grace. 

There  were  pots  that  were  cracked  or  bottomless,  old  novels, 
and  to  the  evident  dismay  of  John  a  favourite  smoking  jacket. 
Ann  clapped  her  hands  with  delight  as  John  shook  at  her  a 
finger  of  reproach.  Then  came  tied  up  in  paper,  which  John 
unrolled,  the  long-forgotten  cane  of  his  youth,  and  how  it  got 
there  the  Squire  or  Billy  may  have  known.  John  bid,  but  at 
a  warning  signal  from  Leila  gave  up,  as  she  recaptured  her 


4:72  WESTWAYS 

property.  There  were  other  apples,  with  and  without  money; 
and  so  with  fun  and  merriment  the  sale  went  on  to  Westways' 
satisfaction. 

"  What 's  this/'  said  John,  with  an  unpleasant  shock  of  an 
noyance  as  he  uncovered  the  Colonel's  war-worn  uniform.  He 
hesitated,  looking  towards  his  uncle  who  seemed  bewildered. 
"  That  's  that  rascal,  Billy  —  it 's  a  mistake,"  exclaimed  the 
Colonel. 

"  No,  sir,"  shouted  Billy,  "  Squire  told  me  to  take  'em. 
There  's  a  sword  too.  Squire  said  it  was  n't  any  use  now." 

No  one  laughed;  it  was  obviously  one  of  Billy's  blunders. 
John  put  the  worn  uniform  and  the  sword  aside  and  threw  a 
cover  over  them.  It  was  an  unpleasant  reminder  of  the  Col 
onel's  state  of  mind  and  disturbed  the  little  group  at  one  side  of 
the  stage.  John  made  haste  to  get  away  from  it. 

"  Last  article  for  sale  —  it 's  large  and  must  be  bought 
covered  up.  Who  will  bid?"  Amid  laughter  the  bids  rose. 
At  a  dollar  and  ten  cents  it  fell  to  Mrs.  Pole,  and  proved  when 
uncovered  to  be  another  band-box.  Mrs.  Pole  came  forward, 
and  Ann  Penhallow  pleased  to  have  been  able  to  amuse  her  hus 
band  said,  "We  are  curious,  Mrs.  Pole,  open  it."  Mrs.  Pole 
obeyed,  and  as  she  held  up  the  rolled  package  it  dropped  into 
the  unmistakable  form  of  a  man's  breeches. 

Westways  exploded  into  wild  applause,  understanding  joyously 
this  freak  of  fortune.  Mrs.  Pole  joined  in  their  merriment,  and 
the  carpenter  punched  the  butcher  in  the  ribs  for  emphasis,  as 
he  said,  "How's  that,  Pole?"  The  butcher  made  use  of 
unpleasant  language,  as  John  relieved  said,  "  The  sale  is  over. 
You  can  settle  with  Mr.  Grace."  As  he  spoke  he  moved  over 
to  where  Leila  stood  beside  the  two  McGregors. 

The  people  rose  and  put  on  their  cloaks  preparing  to  leave. 
Then  John  heard  Tom  McGregor  say,  "  Look  out,  father ! 
Something  is  going  to  happen." 

The   Colonel  moved  forward  unsteadily.     His  face  flushed, 


WESTWAYS  473 

grew  pale,  and  something  like  a  grimace  distorted  his  features, 
as  he  said,  "  The  sale  is  not  over,  sit  down." 

People  took  their  places  again  wondering  what  was  to  come. 
Then  with  the  clear  ringing  voice  the  cavalry  lines  knew  in 
far-away  Indian  wars,  he  cried,  "We  will  now  sell  the  most 
useless  article  in  Westways.  Who  '11  buy  silly  Billy  ?  " 

"  Can't  sell  me,"  piped  out  Billy's  thin  voice  as  he  fled  in 
alarm,  amid  laughter. 

"  The  sale  is  over,  uncle,"  said  John. 

"  No,  sir  —  don't  interrupt.     I  'd  like  to  sell  Swallow/ 

This  was  much  to  their  taste.  "  Guess  he  's  sold  a  many  of 
us,"  cried  an  old  farmer. 

"  Why,  he  's  dead,"  said  Mrs.  Crocker. 

The  Colonel's  gaze  wandered.  The  little  group  of  friends 
became  hopelessly  uneasy;  even  Mrs.  Ann  ceased  to  smile. 
"  You  stand  up,  Polly  Somers  —  you  are  the  handsomest  girl  in 
the  county,"  which  was  quite  true. 

The  girl,  who  was  near  by,  sat  still  embarrassed.  "  Get  up," 
said  Penhallow  sharply. 

"  She 's  withdrawed  these  three  months,"  cried  a  ready-witted 
young  farmer. 

"  Oh,  is  she  ?  Well,  then,  we  will  go  on."  Tom  McGregor 
went  quietly  up  the  two  steps  to  the  platform.  All  those  who 
were  near  to  the  much-loved  master  of  Grey  Pine  stood  still 
aware  of  something  wrong  and  unable  to  interfere.  Rivers 
alone  moved  towards  him  and  was  put  aside  by  an  authoritative 
gesture.  The  moment  of  silence  was  oppressive,  and  Leila  was 
hardly  conscious  of  the  movement  which  carried  her  up  beside 
Dr.  McGregor  to  the  level  of  the  platform. 

"  Oh,  do  something,"  she  whispered ;  "  please  do  something." 

"  It  is  useless  —  this  can't  last." 

"Uncle  Jim,"  she  exclaimed  in  her  despair,  and  what  more 
she  would  have  urged  was  unheard  or  unsaid  as  the  Colonel 
turned  towards  her  and  cried,  "  One  more  for  sale ! " 


474  WESTWAYS 

No  one  spoke.  At  last  these  various  people  who  loved  the 
man  well  saw  more  or  less  clearly  that  he  was  no  longer  their 
James  Penhallow  of  other  days.  He  went  on  at  once  with  raised 
voice :  "  Last  sale  —  Leila  Grey  —  likely  young  woman  — 
warranted  sound  —  single  or  double  harness.  Fetch  her  up." 
His  confusion  of  mind  was  painf uly  apparent.  "  Who  '11  bid  ?  " 
A  suppressed  titter  rose  from  the  younger  people. 

"  She  is  withdrawn,  uncle/'  said  John  Penhallow  distinctly. 

"  Ah !  who  did  you  say  —  Like  Polly,  owner  withdraws  her 
—  Can't  you  speak  out  ?  " 

"  I  said,  withdrawn,  sir,"  John  repeated.  As  he  spoke  he 
saw  the  Colonel  stagger  backwards  and  sink  into  his  chair;  his 
face  became  white  and  twitched;  his  head  fell  to  one  side;  he 
breathed  stertorously,  flushed  slightly,  and  was  instantly  as  one 
asleep. 

Ann  Penhallow  and  the  two  doctors  were  at  his  side.  Rivers 
called  out,  "  Leave  the  room,  all  of  you,  please.  Open  the  win 
dows,  Grace ! " 

"  Is  he  dead  ?  "  asked  Ann  of  McGregor. 

"  No,  no  —  it  is  a  slight  fit  —  there  is  no  danger." 

A  moment  later  Penhallow  opened  his  eyes,  sat  up,  and  said, 
"  Where  am  I  ?  What 's  all  this  about  ?  " 

John  said,  "A  bit  faint,  uncle.  The  carriage  is  waiting." 
He  staggered  to  his  feet,  and  seizing  Rivers's  arm  followed  Ann 
and  John  in  silence.  With  Rivers  they  were  driven  back  to 
Grey  Pine.  Of  all  Ann  Penhallow's  schemes  to  amuse  or  in 
terest  her  husband  this  had  been  the  most  utter  failure. 

Every  one  had  gone  from  the  hall  when  John  missing  Leila 
returned  to  the  outer  room  to  put  on  his  cloak.  The  boy-cap 
Leila  liked  to  wear  in  bad  weather,  her  rain-cloak,  his  umbrella, 
were  as  they  had  been  left.  He  stood  still  in  the  first  moment 
available  for  thought  and  knew  that  here  was  a  new  trouble. 
She  must  have  been  so  shocked  and  ashamed  as  to  have  fled  in 
the  rain  eager  to  get  away. 


WESTWAYS  475 

Neither  he  nor  any  man  could  have  realized  what  she  felt  as 
her  uncle  talked  wildly  —  and  she  had  been  put  up  for  sale. 
She  used  none  of  the  resources  of  reason.  All  her  body  was 
hot  with  the  same  flush  of  shame  which  burned  in  her  face.  In 
her  passion  of  disgust  and  anger,  she  hurried  out  into  the 
storm.  The  chill  of  the  east  wind  was  friendly.  She  gave  no 
other  thought  to  the  wind-driven  rain,  but  ran  through  the 
woods  like  a  wild  thing,  all  virginal  woman,  unreasonable,  in 
sulted,  angry  as  a  child  is  angry  —  even  her  uncle  was  for 
gotten.  She  ran  upstairs,  the  glory  of  her  rain-soaked  hair  in 
tumbled  disorder,  and  in  her  room  broke  into  the  open  speech 
which  passion  confides  to  the  priest  solitude. 

"  Oh,  John  Penhallow,  how  could  you !  That  ends  it  —  a 
man  who  could  —  and  oh,  John  Penhallow ! "  She  cried  a 
little,  wailing  in  a  childish  way,  and  then  with  some  returning 
sense  of  anxiety  put  herself  in  condition  to  go  downstairs,  where 
she  learned  that  her  uncle  was  in  bed.  She  went  back  to  her 
room. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

A  HALF  hour  later  John  sat  alone  in  the  library.  He  had 
much  to  disturb  a  young  man  trained  to  obey  and  at  need 
command,  and  was  feeling  the  responsibility  of  an  unusual 
position.  At  last  he  wrote  a  note  to  his  aunt  and  sent  it  up  to 
her  by  a  maid.  In  a  few  minutes  Ann  Penhallow  appeared. 

"  What  is  it,  John  ?  I  cannot  leave  James  alone  long/'  She 
sat  down.  "Now  don't  keep  me." 

"  I  need  not  detain  you  long,  but  I  feel  that  you  ought  to 
know,  Aunt  Ann,  that  I  have  had  a  talk  with  Tom  McGregor 
and  have  sent  a  telegram  to  Dr.  Askew  desiring  him  to  come  at 
once  and  see  my  uncle.  I  ought  to  hear  to-morrow." 

She  rose  to  her  feet.  "  You  did  this,  John,  without  a  word 
to  me  and  knowing  that  your  uncle  has  over  and  over  said  he 
would  not  listen  to  anything  of  the  kind.  You  have  taken 
a  great  liberty  —  I  shall  telegraph  for  your  doctor  not  to  come. 
James  is  always  better  after  these  attacks." 

Much  surprised,  he  said,  "  These  attacks  —  has  he  had  them 
before?" 

"  Oh,  twice  —  very  slight." 

"But,  aunt,  do  you  not  understand  how  serious  this  one 
was?" 

"  He  is  better  already  —  much  better.  There  should  not  be 
any  need  to  remind  you  that  you  are  not  the  head  of  this  house. 
I  shall  telegraph  at  once,  in  the  morning,  and  stop  him." 

"  It  will  be  too  late,  aunt." 

"  Then  your  doctor  may  go  back.  I  will  not  see  this  doc 
tor  if  in  spite  of  my  telegram  he  should  come.  You  will 
understand,  John,  that  this  ends  it.  I  certainly  will  not  have 
James  constantly  irritated.  I  shall  telegraph  now  —  at  once." 

476 


WESTWAYS  477 

"You  will  do,  aunt,  as  it  seems  best  to  you."  He  saw  the 
telegram  written  and  heard  her  order  to  send  it  to  the  Westways 
office. 

His  aunt,  having  settled  the  matter,  went  upstairs,  an  angry 
and  indignant  woman,  leaving  in  the  library  a  man  resolute 
not  to  accept  defeat. 

He  wrote  a  second  message:  "Disregard  Mrs.  Penhallow's 
telegram.  Come  at  once.  Fee  at  discretion.  Will  meet  you 
at  Westways  Crossing." 

He  roused  up  Josiah  and  gave  his  order.  "  Eide  to  the  mills 
and  get  this  despatch  sent  to-night  or  early  to-morrow  —  oh, 
to-night,  somehow.  It  is  important.  Pay  some  one  —  only  get 
it  sent.  Here  are  five  dollars." 

He  was  of  no  mind  to  meet  either  Leila  or  his  aunt,  and 
to  escape  them  breakfasted  early  next  morning,  and  riding  to  the 
mills  was  pleased  to  avoid  another  painful  interview.  On  his 
return  at  evening  the  dinner  at  Grey  Pine  was  made  rather  less 
uncomfortable  by  the  presence  of  Eivers  who  talked  to  Ann 
Penhallow  while  the  Colonel  dozed  in  his  armchair.  Accus 
tomed  to  have  her  decisions  obeyed  in  her  home,  Ann  Penhallow 
had  now  dismissed  the  question  of  a  consultation  as  settled, 
and  had  quite  lightly  mentioned  to  Leila  that  John  had  re 
vived  the  subject  and  that  she  had  once  for  all  put  an  end  to  it. 

She  was  sorry  to  have  had  to  be  so  positive,  but  was  pleased 
to  be  done  with  the  matter  in  dispute.  She  little  knew  the 
young  soldier.  When  he  was  certain  that  the  consultant 
would  come,  he  began  to  consider  what  he  would  do  if  his  aunt 
did  simply  refuse  to  see  Dr.  Askew.  She  might,  in  fact,  be  as 
resolute  as  her  nephew. 

In  her  trouble  about  her  husband's  mishap,  Ann  Penhallow 
hardly  regarded  her  niece's  unpleasant  share  in  the  sad  ending 
of  the  rummage-sale  —  it  was  relatively  of  no  moment.  Nor 
would  the  girl  herself  have  been  willing  to  discuss  it.  John 
Penhallow  should  have  held  his  tongue,  and  now  all  Westways 


478  WESTWAYS 

must  be  laughing  —  and  she  would  never  —  never  —  forgive 
him.  Evidently  her  aunt  had  scolded  him  about  that  consulta 
tion.  She  had  a  little  curiosity  to  know  how  he  had  taken  it 
and  how  he  looked  when  he  came  to  match  the  will  of  his  young 
manhood  against  the  unreasonable  obstinacy  of  the  woman  he 
had  been  taught  to  obey.  She  observed  next  day  at  breakfast 
that  John  was  more  than  usually  gay,  as  he  asked  if  there  were 
any  errands.  There  were  none.  He  loitered  about  waiting  and 
at  last  went  out  to  the  back  porch  where  he  stood  a  minute 
looking  over  the  box  hedge  which  bounded  the  garden.  Leila 
was  busy  taking  tribute  from  the  first  roses  of  the  summer  days. 
As  she  bent  over,  she  let  them  fall  one  by  one  into  the  basket  at 
her  feet.  Now  and  then  she  drew  up  her  tall  figure,  and  seemed 
to  John  as  she  paused  to  be  deep  in  thought.  When  she  became 
aware  of  his  approach,  she  fell  again  to  harvesting  roses. 

He  said,  "Leila,  before  I  go  to  the  mills,  I  want  to  talk 
with  you  about  what  is  troubling  me.  In  fact  — " 

Without  looking  up  she  broke  into  his  attempt  to  explain 
himself,  "  I  am  in  no  mood  to  discuss  anything,  John  Pen- 
hallow." 

He  was  frankly  puzzled.  Of  the  many  Leilas,  this  was  a 
new  acquaintance,  but  he  said  quietly,  "  It  is  necessary  to  make 
a  statement  —  I  want  first  to  explain." 

She  refreshed  her  rising  anger  with  words.  "  I  do  not  want 
any  explanation  —  there  are  things  no  woman  can  pardon.  I 
was  insulted." 

"My  dear  Leila,  upon  my  honour  I  do  not  know  what  you 
mean." 

She  was  near  to  saying,  "  I  am  not  yours,  or  dear."  Some 
thing  in  the  look  of  the  attentive  face  and  the  calmness  of  his 
manner  put  her  on  guard,  and  she  said  only,  "  That  is,  I  pre 
sume,  because  you  are  not  a  woman." 

He  said,  "  I  do  not  regret  that,  but  you  clearly  are  thinking 
of  one  thing  and  I  of  another.  It  must  be  the  rummage-sale. 


WESTWAYS  479 

I  have  no  desire  to  discuss  that  sorrowful  business,  Miss  Grey. 
You  have  quite  misapprehended  me.  It  is  of  Uncle  Jim  I  want 
to  talk  —  in  fact,  to  ask  advice/' 

"  I  did  not  understand,"  she  said,  flushing  a  little.  His  for 
mal  manner  was  .very  unpleasant,  and  to  be  called  Miss  Grey 
was  ridiculous.  If  he  had  shown  anger  or  even  annoyance  it 
would  have  eased  the  situation.  He  went  on  to  explain  him 
self,  rather  aware  of  her  embarrassment  and  not  altogether  sorry 
for  her  mishap. 

"  I  said  I  want  help  —  advice.  I  have  sent  for  Prof.  Askew. 
Aunt  Ann  has  telegraphed  him  not  to  come.  I  wired  him  to 
disregard  her  message.  He  has  answered  me  that  he  will  be  here 
at  the  house,  if  the  train  is  on  time,  about  six  to-day.  It  is 
our  last  hope,  but  it  is  a  hope.  Aunt  Ann  must  see  this  gentle 
man  —  I  say  she  must.  Now,  how  can  it  be  managed  ?  " 

Leila  let  fall  a  handful  of  roses  into  the  basket  and  faced 
him.  "  Take  time"  he  said.  "  I  do  really  need  help  —  how 
can  I  make  Aunt  Ann  see  this  famous  surgeon?  Take  time/' 
he  repeated. 

Here  was  for  Leila  a  rather  astonishing  revelation  of  resolute 
aggressive  manhood  —  a  new  John  Penhallow.  Relieved  to 
have  been  taken  out  of  her  angry  mood,  she  stood  still  a  mo 
ment  while  he  waited  on  her  counsel.  "  There  is  but  one  way/' 
she  said,  "it  is  the  only  way.  I  do  not  like  it  —  whether  you 
will  be  willing  to  accept  it,  I  do  not  know/' 

"And  still  you  advise  it?" 

"I  do  not/' 

"Well,  what  is  it? » 

"  At  about  six  every  afternoon,  when  Uncle  Jim  is  asleep, 
Aunt  Ann  is  almost  certain  to  be  in  her  little  library-room. 
Take  Dr.  Askew  in,  present  him,  and  walk  out.  She  will  hate 
it,  but  she  is  sure  to  be  what  she  is  always  to  a  guest.  He  will 
have  his  chance." 

"Thank  you,   Miss   Grey."— How   she   hated  that!— "You 


480  WESTWAYS 

have  helped  me."  He  touched  his  army  cap  in  salute  and  left 
her  alone.  At  the  garden  gate  he  looked  back  —  Miss  Grey  was 
also  looking  back,  and  vexed  at  being  thus  caught  bent  down 
again  and  cut  buds  and  roses  with  sharp  nips  of  the  scissors. 

It  was  not  in  the  nature  or  breeding  of  John  Penhallow  to 
like  Leila's  plan  for  securing  to  the  surgeon  a  chance  to  impose 
on  a  reluctant  woman  a  clearly  stated  opinion  which  otherwise 
she  might  have  the  courage  to  disregard.  But  what  else  could 
he  do?  A  little  after  six  he  met  the  carriage  far  down  the 
avenue  and  walked  slowly  to  the  house  with  the  younger  Mc 
Gregor  and  the  surgeon. 

"  You  are  most  welcome/'  said  John.  "  Dr.  McGregor  has, 
I  trust,  told  you  of  our  difficulties  with  my  aunt  ?  " 

Askew  smiled.  "  Yes ;  it  is  no  uncommon  case.  I  may  add 
that  Dr.  McGregor's  letters  have  satisfied  me  that  an  immediate 
operation  offers  the  only  and  too  long  delayed  chance  of 
success.  I  must,  of  course,  see  Mrs.  Penhallow  —  the  sooner  the 
better." 

"Yes  —  pray  follow  me."  He  led  the  way  across  the  hall, 
opened  the  library  door,  and  said  to  the  astonished  lady,  "  Prof. 
Askew,  Aunt  Ann."  Then  he  went  out. 

Well  aware  of  being  trapped,  Mrs.  Penhallow  stood  up  and 
apparently  at  perfect  ease  said,  "You  must  have  had  a  very 
tiresome  journey." 

"  Not  very,"  he  returned,  as  he  accepted  a  seat. 

Then  the  little  lady  sat  up  and  said,  "  You  must  pardon  me 
if  I  say  that  this  consultation  has  been  brought  about  by  my 
nephew  against  my  husband's  wishes." 

"  And  your  own  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  own." 

"  I  so  understand  it.  May  I  say  in  my  defence  that  I  missed 
your  telegram  and  only  saw  it  when  it  was  sent  after  me  on  the 
train,  but  now  I  am  here."  She  had  not  the  courage  to  say 
what  she  would  have  liked  to  say,  and  he  went  on.  "  General 


WESTWAYS  481 

Hancock  saw  me  a  day  or  two  back.  What  he  said  of  your 
husband  gave  me  at  once  a  personal  interest  in  him.  Is  n't  it 
odd  how  one  is  brought  to  realize  what  a  small  place  our  world 
is  ?  I  was  at  Fort  Delaware  before  the  war  ended  and  saw  there 
—  I  was  on  inspection  duty  —  a  Confederate  Colonel,  Henry 
Grey  —  a  prisoner.  Is  he  not  a  relation  of  the  handsome  Miss 
Grey  we  met  on  the  avenue  ?  " 

"  My  niece.     He  is  my  brother." 

"  Indeed !  I  gave  some  advice  about  his  wound  —  it  was  not 
serious.  May  I  talk  to  you  a  little  about  your  husband  ?  " 

She  felt  herself  cornered,  and  could  not  escape  without  dis 
courtesy,  of  which  she  was  quite  incapable ;  "  Or,"  he  added, 
"may  I  not  rather  talk  first  to  Colonel  Penhallow,  and  later 
to  you?  It  is,  I  take  it,  his  view  of  this  very  grave  matter 
which  naturally  influences  you." 

For  the  briefest  of  moments  she  made  no  reply.  Then  she 
stood  up  and  felt  the  force  conveyed  in  the  personality  of  George 
Askew,  as  he  towered  over  her,  a  man  of  unusual  height.  She 
looked  up  at  the  large  kind  face  the  long  sad  wards  knew  so 
well.  The  lines  of  thought  were  deeply  graven  below  a  broad 
forehead  thinly  crowned  with  yellow  hair  now  fast  greying. 
He  showed  no  sign  of  impatience.  "Yes,  she  said,  "that  will 
be  better  —  you  must  see  Mr.  Penhallow  before  you  talk  to  me. 
If  he  consents  to  do  what  you  want  to  do  —  I  —  Well,  Dr. 
Askew,  I  am  just  now  too  angry  to  reason.  Have  the  kindness 
to  follow  me." 

She  was  unwilling  to  give  her  husband  any  more  choice  than 
John  Penhallow  had  given  her.  If  the  Colonel  became  irritable 
and  declined  to  accept  the  visit  of  this  impressive  personage  as 
a  surgeon,  well,  that  must  of  course  end  the  matter.  But  as 
he  went  upstairs  behind  her,  there  arose  in  her  mind  a  storm- 
battered  hope. 

The  surgeon  was  smiling  and  so  far  pleased.  He  was  greatly 
interested  in  the  case  he  was  about  to  see.  It  had  excited  some 


482  WESTWAYS 

discussion  as  unusual,  and  the  unusual  in  surgery  or  medicine 
has  many  times  been  the  guide  to  broad  highways  of  usefulness 
where  the  daring  of  the  one  has  made  easy  the  way  for  the  many. 
Now  he  meant  to  win  the  confidence  of  the  man,  if  he  proved 
sane  enough  to  reason.  He  might  also  have  to  make  more 
complete  his  conquest  of  this  coldly  civil  hostess.  It  was  for 
him  an  old  game,  and  he  played  it  with  tact  and  skill. 

She  paused  at  the  door.  "  Pray  wait  a  moment,  Doctor.  No 
—  he  has  wakened,  I  hear  him."  He  stopped  her. 

"  Before  we  see  the  Colonel  —  before  I  see  him  —  I  want  you 
to  be  heartily  in  accord  with  any  decision  we  may  reach.  There 
are  but  two  courses  which  seem  to  me  possible,  and  I  do  want 
you  to  feel  sure  that  either  you  will  have  to  watch  a  mind 
crumble  hopelessly  or,  if  we  succeed,  see  one  of  those  amazing 
recoveries  which  are  like  the  dawning  of  day.  I  say  this  most 
earnestly,  because  your  hearty  help  may  be  wanted.  If  he  says 
no  to  our  decision,  his  fate  may  really  rest  with  your  will  to 
stand  by  me." 

This  was  pretty  hard,  and  no  time  was  given  for  discussion. 
She  looked  up  at  the  kind  pleading  face,  and  while  feeling  that 
she  must  yield,  hesitated  —  so  distinctly  hesitated  that  the  sur 
geon's  brow  became  severely  grave  as  the  furrows  between  the 
eyes  deepened  in  growing  wonder.  He  took  her  hand  as  if  to 
get  into  some  personal  touch  with  a  woman  whose  opposition  he 
could  not  understand.  "You  will  help  me?  In  this  man's 
condition  a  word  may  win  or  lose  a  game  in  which  the  stake  is 
a  life  —  oh,  that  is  little  —  or  the  restoration  of  a  noble,  useful 
mind.  I  know  you  will  help  me." 

She  looked  down,  and  said  faintly,  "Yes." 

"  Thank  you."  He  smiled  — "  Bless  me !  what  a  little  hand," 
he  said,  as  he  let  it  fall. 

She  opened  the  door  and  as  he  followed  her,  stepped  aside, 
saying  bravely,  "  Here  is  a  friend,  James.  You  will  like  to  see 
Dr.  Askew." 


WESTWAYS  483 

He  took  the  chair  she  set  at  the  bedside,  while  the  Colonel 
regarded  him  suspiciously,  saying,  "  I  think  I  heard  of  you 
after  Gettysburg." 

"Yes,  I  took  care  of  General  Hancock.  A  lot  of  us  went 
down  to  help.  Curious  case  his  —  a  ball  hit  the  pommel  of  his 
saddle  and  drove  a  nail  into  his  leg." 

"Yes,  I  heard  of  it.  It  was  thought  they  were  firing  nails 
—  queer  that !  " 

Askew  seized  on  the  moment  of  illumined  intelligence,  won 
dering  what  dull  surgeon  had  set  in  this  man's  mind  an  obses 
sion  which  forbade  all  other  opinion.  "Hancock  will  suffer 
long  —  but  now,  about  you  —  did  no  one  think  you  could  be 
relieved  by  an  operation  ?  Take  your  time  to  answer  me." 

Penhallow,  groping  in  the  confusion  of  remote  memories,  re 
turned,  "  I  seem  to  recall  —  yes  —  it  was  talked  of  — " 

"But  not  done?  Some  one  is  responsible  for  these  years  of 
pain.  You  do  suffer?" 

"  Oh,  my  God !  yes.  I  try  to  bear  it."  His  eyes  filled.  "  Is 
it  too  late?" 

"No,"  said  Askew,  "it  is  not."  What  doubt  he  had  he  put 
aside. 

"Then  we  will  see  to-morrow." 

"  An  operation !  "  said  Ann,  alarmed.  A  look  conquered  her. 
"  You  will  do,  James,  whatever  Dr.  Askew  wishes  ?  " 

"  I  will  —  but  don't  make  me  talk  any  more,  Ann  —  my  head 
aches." 

Askew  rose.  "Please  to  send  up  the  Drs.  McGregor.  May 
I  make  use  of  another  room  ?  " 

"Yes,  of  course." 

Ann  Penhallow  found  Dr.  Tom  and  his  father  on  the  porch 
with  Leila  and  John.  She  said,  "Take  the  doctors  up  to  my 
own  room,  Leila,  and  I  want  to  talk  with  John  —  there  are  some 
arrangements  to  make." 

Leila,  guiltily  conscious  of  her  share  in  securing  the  sur- 


484  WESTWAYS 

geon's  interview  with  her  aunt,  was  glad  to  accept  the  hint 
and  the  chance  to  escape. 

Ann  sat  down  beside  John,  and  said,  "  John,  why  did  you  trick 
me  into  a  talk  with  Dr.  Askew  ?  " 

"  Because,  aunt,  you  said  you  would  not  see  him  —  and  it 
was  necessary." 

"  You  took  me  too  literally." 

"  I  took  you  at  your  word  —  something  had  to  be  done.  If 
it  fails,  we  are  no  worse  off/' 

"  But  it  may  fail  —  oh  !  what  if  it  does,  John." 

"  Aunt  Ann,  I  am  in  despair.  Listen  to  me ;  no,  I  must  talk 
it  out.  The  agreement  with  uncle's  old  partners  ended  with  the 
war.  Things  at  the  mills  are  in  confusion  —  what  is  to  be 
done?  I  asked  Uncle  Jim  to  give  me  a  power  of  attorney  to 
act  for  him.  He  refused.  You  supported  him.  Delay  is 
ruinous,  and  yet  we  can  do  nothing.  You  are  vexed  with  me  — 
Yes  —  you  have  not  given  me  my  morning  kiss  for  days. 
Leila  is  unreasonably  angry  with  me  because  that  dreadful 
night  I  did  the  only  thing  possible  in  my  power  to  stop  my 
uncle.  I  am  most  unhappy.  I  sometimes  think  I  had  better 
go  away  and  look  for  work  as  an  engineer,  and  —  you  did  love 
me  once."  He  rose  and  walked  up  and  down  the  porch  silent; 
he  had  emptied  mind  and  heart.  Then  he  paused  before  her. 
She  was  crying,  as  she  said,  "  Don't  reproach  me,  John  —  I  can't 
bear  it  —  I  have  had  to  bear  too  much  to-day  —  and  you  were 
so  naughty."  He  leaned  over  and  kissed  her  forehead. 
"John,"  she  said,  "there  is  to  be  an  operation  to-morrow.  It 
is  terrible.  May  the  good  God  be  kind  to  him  and  us.  Now  go 
away  —  I  want  to  be  alone.  See  that  Dr.  Askew  is  well  cared 
for." 

"  Certainly,  Aunt  Ann."    He  had  won  his  battle. 

At  dinner  the  doctor  was  at  pains  to  dispel  the  gloom  which, 
as  he  well  knew,  falls  on  those  who  love  when  one  of  the  critical 
hours  of  life  approaches.  When  they  left  the  table  he  went  into 


WESTWAYS  485 

the  library  with  the  doctors  and  John,  where  they  smoked  many 
pipes  and  talked  war. 

At  breakfast  next  day  Askew's  account  of  his  early  morning 
drew  a  smile  even  from  Ann  Penhallow.  "  Sleep !  Yes,  I  sup 
pose  I  slept.  There  was  a  blank  of  some  hours.  I  am  apt  to 
waken  early.  At  dawn  there  was  a  bright  red-eyed  sky,  then 
it  clouded  as  if  the  eyes  had  shut.  A  little  later  Miss  Grey 
rode  away  on  a  chestnut  horse.  I  walked  through  your  garden 
and  an  unseen  lady  gave  me  this  rose-bud.  I  had  a  joyful 
swim.  As  I  came  back  I  saw  Captain  Penhallow  ride  away  — 
and  why  not  with  you,  Miss  Grey?  You  may  perceive  that  I 
am  a  dangerous  man  to  entertain.  If  you  do  not  prefer  better 
society,  may  I  ask  to  ride  with  you  to-morrow  ?  " 

"What  better  society?"  asked  Leila. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Grey,  alone  —  by  herself." 

The  two  young  people  understood  the  charitable  gaiety  of  his 
talk,  but  although  one  of  them  at  least  was  feeling  a  sudden 
access  of  relief  the  quick  jesting  chat  and  laughter  became  dis 
tressing  to  Ann  Penhallow.  At  last  she  rose  and  excused  her 
self,  saying,  "  Another  cup  ?  My  niece  will  give  it  to  you/' 

"  One  moment,"  he  returned  —  his  face  became  grave.  "  I 
shall  operate  early  this  morning.  You  must  go  out-of-doors  — 
the  porch  —  I  suggest  the  porch.  I  shall  send  down  Dr.  Mc 
Gregor  to  tell  you  frankly  the  result  of  my  operation.  I  want 
Captain  Penhallow,  and  with  him  and  the  two  McGregors  we 
shall  care  for  my  patient.  I  hope  the  doctors  will  let  you  se« 
the  Colonel  in  a  week.  I  shall  trespass  on  your  hospitality  for 
two  days  more." 

"  I  could  wish  it  were  a  week.  I  shall  do  precisely  what 
you  desire." 

John  Penhallow  caught  some  signal  of  amused  surprise  in 
Leila's  looks.  He  checked  his  own  smile  of  partnership  in  mirth 
at  Ann  Penhallow's  sudden  subjugation,  feeling  that  with 
Leila  the  intimacies  of  mirth  were  at  an  end. 


486  WESTWAYS 

Ann  took  her  knitting  and  went  out  upon  the  back  porch. 
"  How  many  rows  can  I  knit  until  I  hear  ?  No,  Leila  —  I  want 
to  be  alone.  Here  is  a  note  from  Mr.  Rivers.  The  Bishop  met 
him  at  Harrisburg  and  carried  him  off  to  Philadelphia.  I  hope 
there  is  no  scheme  to  take  him  away.  Now  go,  dear/'  She 
heard  the  voices  of  the  McGregors  as  they  went  upstairs.  She 
sat  alone  and  waited. 

Among  the  friends  who  know  me  only  through  my  summer- 
born  books,  there  must  be  many  who  can  recall  such  hours  of 
suspense  as  Ann  Penhallow  endured.  The  clock  in  the  hall 
struck  ten.  A  little  later  her  keen  sense  made  her  aware  of  the 
faint  odour  of  ether  from  the  open  windows  on  the  second  floor. 
She  let  fall  her  work,  went  down  the  garden  path,  and  walked 
with  quick  steps  among  the  firstlings  of  June.  Then  came  Tom 
McGregor  swiftly,  and  in  his  smiling  face  she  read  good  news. 

"  It  is  all  right,"  he  said ;  "  it  is  over.  There  was  a  fracture 
of  the  fragile  inner  layer  of  the  bone  —  a  piece  was  pressing  on 
the  brain  —  it  was  easily  removed.  The  doctor  is  very  much 
pleased.  Oh,  my  dear  Mrs.  Penhallow,  there  are  better  days 
ahead  for  you  and  him.  Now,  I  must  go  back." 

"Thank  God!"  she  said,  "and  —  and  you  —  and  —  John. 
God  forgive  me,  I  have  been  a  fool ! " 

The  next  two  days  went  by  without  incident.  Askew  rode, 
walked,  and  had  no  news  for  her  except,  "He  is  doing  well." 
He  would  say  no  more.  What  hours  of  doubt,  of  watchful 
fear,  he  had,  she  never  knew.  On  the  morning  of  the  third 
day,  while  the  carriage  waited  to  carry  him  away,  Mrs.  Pen 
hallow  led  him  into  her  library. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  with  her  cheque-book  open  before  her,  "  we 
owe  you  a  debt  none  can  pay,  but  let  me  offer  you  my  most 
humble  apologies  for  my  behaviour  when  you  came." 

"  Please,  don't,"  he  returned. 

"But  I  had  to.  And  now,  let  me  know  what  is  our  lesser 
and  more  material  debt  ?  " 


WESTWAYS  487 

He  rose,  smiling.  "It  has  been  my  happy,  unbroken  rule 
to  take  nothing  from  any  soldier  who  served  in  this  sad  war  — 
oh!  on  either  side.  I  have  made,  I  hope,  some  friends.  The 
Colonel  asked  to-day  about  a  horse  Dixy  —  I  think  —  and  when 
could  he  ride.  You  may  imagine  my  pleasure.  He  will  get 
well,  but  you  must  be  patient.  I  leave  him  in  competent  hands, 
and  in  the  fall  I  mean  to  come  back  and  shoot  your  woodcocks. 
Good-bye."  He  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

A  WEEK  later  Ann  Penhallow  was  told  that  she  might  see 
her  husband.     She  entered  his  bedroom  with  timidity. 
"  Oh,  Ann,  my  most  dear  Ann ! "  he  cried,  as  she  kissed  him. 
His  expression   of  recovered  intelligence  overcame  her   for   a 
moment. 

She  faltered,  "  How  are  you  feeling,  James  —  any  better  ?  " 

"Better  — I  am  well/' 

"  Hardly,  dear  —  do  be  careful."  She  was  unable  to  accept 
as  a  wholesome  reality  this  amazing  resurrection  of  a  mind. 

He  understood  her  need  for  some  reassurance,  and  said, 
"  Don't  worry  about  me,  Ann.  It  is  like  a  vague  dream,  all 
these  many  months  —  but  a  dream  you  know  fades  fast.  My 
own  memories  get  clearer  —  some  things  are  quite  lost  —  some 
are  as  distinct  as  if  they  happened  yesterday.  The  war  is  a 
puzzle  to  me  —  and  —  if  I  try  to  remember,  it  confuses  me. 
But  I  must  not  talk  war  to  you  —  I  do  remember  that.  I  won't 
do  it  again,  dear." 

There  was  something  so  childlike  in  this  that  it  almost  over 
came  the  woman's  steadily  guarded  calm.  She  had  been  warned 
to  be  careful  that  there  should  be  no  excitement  to  agitate  a 
mind  which  was  slowly  groping  its  way  out  of  the  shadows  of 
half-illumined  memories. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  James,"  she  said  quietly,  "  talk  of  war  or  any 
thing;  it  is  over."  Despite  her  cautious  command  of  her  voice 
it  trembled  with  emotion  as  she  said,  "  Nothing  is  of  any  mo 
ment  but  you  —  you.  What  do  I  care  for  the  war  or  —  or  any 
thing  but  to  have  you  as  you  were  ?  Oh,  my  God !  I  am 
thankful." 

488 


WESTWAYS  489 

It  disturbed  him,  as  she  saw.  He  felt  and  looked  puzzled  as 
he  said,  "  I  see  —  I  am  not  quite  clear-headed  yet,  Ann/' 

"  No,  but  you  will  be.  Don't  try  too  hard,  James.  We  must 
be  patient  and  wait." 

"  I  will  —  I  will  —  and  it  is  such  a  relief  to  have  no  pain 
and  to  see  you." 

Then  as  he  asked  about  Leila  and  the  mill  work,  the  younger 
doctor  came  in  and  said,  "  Time  is  up,  Mrs.  Penhallow." 

" What  —  already,  Tom?" 

"But  I  want  to  know  more,"  said  the  Colonel.  "Wasn't 
there  a  rummage-sale — " 

"Yes;  but  now  you  must  let  Mrs.  Penhallow  go.  You  are 
mending  daily.  To-morrow  Mrs.  Penhallow  may  come  again, 
and  there  will  be  to-morrow,  and  many  happy  to-morrows." 
She  went  out  and  downstairs  singing  in  a  low  sweet  voice  —  a 
long  lost  habit. 

If  to  watch  with  an  aching  heart  the  hopeless  decay  of  a 
mind  be  the  most  distressing  of  all  human  trials,  surely  there 
can  be  few  greater  joys  than  to  see  a  disordered  intellect  emerge 
day  by  day  into  possession  of  its  long  lost  capacities.  James 
Penhallow  was  soon  able  to  sign  a  power  of  attorney  enabling 
John  to  reconstruct  the  old  partnership  with  his  own  name 
added  to  the  firm. 

Very  soon  town  and  county  shared  in  the  growth  of  prosperity 
which  followed  the  war.  Bivers  was  the  only  one  who  was  not 
what  his  friends  desired,  and  never  was  his  melancholy  mood 
more  noticeable. 

The  master  of  Grey  Pine  was,  of  course,  many  months  in 
recovering  his  normal  state  of  mind.  The  man's  bodily 
strength  had  not  been  seriously  impaired,  and  the  return  of  his 
natural  gaiety  and  his  eager  resumption  one  by  one  of  his  old 
habits  filled  his  home  with  that  cheerfulness  which  is  the  reliev 
ing  and  precious  gift  of  convalescence.  Penhallow's  remem 
brances  of  the  war  were  rapidly  recovered  as  he  talked  to  John, 


490  WESTWAYS 

but  much  of  his  recent  life  was  buried  in  the  strange  graveyard 
of  memory,  which  gave  up  no  reminding  ghosts  of  what  all 
who  loved  the  man  feared  might  haunt  him. 

When  satisfied  of  the  certainty  of  his  uncle's  recovery  John 
Penhallow  hurt  by  Leila's  continual  coldness  and  seeing  for  it 
no  reasonable  explanation  gave  more  and  more  time  to  the  mills 
in  which  the  family  fortunes  were  so  seriously  concerned.  On 
the  first  of  September  he  was  glad  to  go  away  on  business  which 
carried  him  to  several  of  the  large  cities,  and  resulted  in  orders 
which  would  keep  the  works  busy  for  many  months.  He  no 
longer  wrote  to  Leila,  nor  did  he  expect  letters  from  her.  He 
considered  any  nearer  relation  than  friendship  to  be  at  an  end, 
but  to  lose  that  also  seemed  to  him  a  quite  too  needlessly  cruel 
loss,  and  now  for  the  first  time  on  returning  he  approached 
Grey  Pine  without  pleasure.  He  had  telegraphed  to  have  a 
horse  sent  to  meet  him  at  Westways  Crossing,  that  he  might  ride 
on  to  the  mills  after  seeing  his  uncle. 

Having  taken  the  night  train,  it  was  about  noon  when  Leila 
saw  him  coming  up  the  avenue.  She  went  forward  to  the  road 
side  and  as  he  sat  in  the  saddle  shook  his  hand,  saying,  "  I  am 
sorry  you  were  delayed,  John.  You  will  be  disappointed  to 
know  that  Uncle  Jim  and  Aunt  Ann  left  home  yesterday/'  She 
wished  that  he  had  not  quite  so  clearly  shown  the  limits  of  his 
regret,  as  he  said  quietly,  "  Well,  I  shall  miss  them,  of  course." 

"A  letter  from  aunfs  brother,  Henry  Grey,  asked  them  to 
visit  him  at  the  old  Maryland  home.  I  think  it  both  pleased 
and  surprised  Aunt  Ann.  I  am  to  join  them  later.  Josiah  is 
to  matronize  me  —  or,  if  you  like,  patronize  me.  Uncle  Jim 
was  delighted  to  be  asked  and  hopes  to  reconcile  the  brothers. 
Henry's  letter  was  very  kind,  but  he  is  still  suffering  from  his 
wound.  Of  course,  Aunt  Ann  was  happy." 

He  looked  down  at  the  upturned  face  as  he  sat  in  the  saddle. 
She  had  given  him  no  warm  word  of  personal  welcome.  "  Well, 


WESTWAYS  491 

it  can't  be  helped.  I  had  much  to  talk  over  with  uncle/'  Then 
he  laughed. 

"What  amuses  you,  John?" 

"  Oh,  I  should  like  to  see  the  interview.  Both  Uncle  Jim 
and  I  had  queer  encounters  with  Henry  Grey." 

"  Uncle  Jim !  —  what  —  when  ?  " 

"  Ask  him.  I  should  have  liked  to  add  George  Grey  to  the 
party.  As  for  your  Uncle  Henry  " —  John  smiled  — "  a  serious 
wound  is  rather  productive  of  the  unexpected,  as  I  know.  I 
will  see  you  at  dinner  —  now  I  must  go  on  to  the  mills."  He 
rode  away  thinking  without  pleasure  of  being  alone  with  Leila. 

The  presence  of  the  maids  who  waited  at  dinner  kept  their 
conversation  on  the  Colonel's  rapid  gain  in  health,  village  inci 
dents,  and  the  mill  life  —  mere  loitering  disconnected  talk  of 
no  interest  except  to  fill  the  hour  of  two  people  who  would  have 
preferred  to  be  silent. 

John  said,  as  he  rose  from  the  table,  "I  have  a  letter  to 
write,  Leila,  and  so  I  must  leave  you  to  the  better  company  of 
your  book."  Once  —  but  a  little  while  ago  —  he  would  have 
asked  what  book  was  now  on  hand.  "  Any  messages  for  aunt 
or  uncle  ?  " 

"None  —  I  wrote  this  morning." 

He  sat  down  in  the  library  at  his  old  desk  and  wrote :  "  Dear 
Leila" —  Then  he  stood  up  —  the  easy  freedom  of  the  letter 
was  denied  to  him.  He  was  in  the  mood  when  outspoken 
speech,  always  for  him  the  more  natural  way  of  expressing  him 
self,  became  imperative.  He  went  back  to  the  hall. 

The  book  lay  face  down  on  her  lap.  "  What  is  it,  John  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you  —  not  here.  Come  into  the  library ; 
those  maids  hear  everything." 

"  Certainly,"  she  said,  "  if  you  want  me." 

She  sat  down,  and  John  leaning  against  the  mantel  and  look- 


492  WESTWAYS 

ing  down  at  her,  said,  "  I  came  in  here  to  write  to  you  what 
is  not  easy  to  write  or  say  —  I  prefer  to  put  it  into  speech." 

"  Indeed !     I  am  quite  ready  to  listen/' 

"  After  your  recent  treatment  of  me,  I  have  no  inclination  to 
make  myself  needlessly  unpleasant.  You  have  made  it  plain 
to  me  that  what  my  heart  longs  for  is  to  be  put  aside  forever. 
There  is  something  due  to  a  man's  self-respect.  But  if  you  were 
a  man,  Leila,  I  could  say  more  easily  something  else.  Are  we 
—  am  I  to  lose  also  your  friendship  —  or  is  even  that  at  an 
end?" 

The  blue  eyes  became  less  adventurous  as  she  said,  "  I  don't 
understand  you,  John." 

"  I  think  you  do.  Long  as  I  have  known  you,  I  cannot  have 
known  you  fully.  Blake  used  to  say  that  everybody  is  several 
people,  and  just  now  —  here  has  come  into  my  life  some  one 
I  don't  know  —  and  don't  want  to  know." 

"  Indeed !  It  must  be  rather  confusing  to  be  several  people. 
Your  friend,  Mr.  Blake,  as  your  letters  showed,  was  rather 
given  to  enigmatical  statements.  I  should  like  to  know  him. 
Would  you  please,  John,  to  bring  me  my  fan  —  I  left  it  in  that 
delightful  book  you  interrupted." 

"  Certainly,"  he  said,  now  a  trifle  more  at  ease.  For  Leila 
to  ask  of  any  one  such  a  service  was  so  unlike  her  that  he  felt 
it  to  be  a  betrayal  of  embarrassment,  and  was  humorously 
pleased  as  he  went  and  came  again. 

She  took  the  fan  and  played  with  that  expressive  piece  of  a 
woman's  outfit  while  John  brought  the  talk  back  to  its  starting- 
point. 

"  Cannot  you  be  the  Leila  I  used  to  know  —  a  frank  girl ;  or 
are  you  to  use  one  of  your  many  disguises  and  just  leave  things 
as  they  have  been  of  late  ?  " 

"  If  you  will  say  plainly  just  what  you  mean,  John  " —  the 
fan  was  in  active  use  — "  I  will  be  as  frank  as  possible." 

"  But  you  may  not  like  it,  Leila." 


WESTWAYS  493 

"  Oh,  go  on.     I  know  you  are  going  to  be  unpleasant/' 

He  looked  at  her  with  surprise.  "We  are  fencing  —  and  I 
hate  it.  Once  at  West  Point  I  was  fencing  with  a  man,  my 
friend;  the  button  broke  off  my  foil  and  I  hurt  him  seri 
ously.  He  fell  dead  beside  me  in  the  trenches  at  Vicksburg  — 
dead!" 

"  Oh,  John !  " —  the  fan  ceased  moving. 

"  What  I  mean  is  that  one  may  chance,  you  or  I,  to  say  some 
thing  that  will  leave  in  memory  that  which  no  years  will  blot 
out.  Don't  be  vexed  with  me.  I  have  had  a  cruel  summer. 
What  with  Uncle  Jim  and  Aunt  Ann  —  and  now  with  you,  I 
—  well  —  you  told  me  after  that  dreadful  night  when  Uncle 
Jim  was  so  wild  that  I  had  insulted  you  — 

"  Don't  talk  of  it,"  she  cried.  "  I  was  put  to  shame  before 
all  those  grinning  people.  You  ought  to  have  said  nothing  — 
or  something  better  than  that  farmer  boy  said  — " 

"  Well  —  perhaps,  Leila ;  but  the  point  is  not  what  I  said  in 
my  desire  to  help  you  and  stop  a  man  for  the  time  insane.  The 
point  is  that  I  did  not  insult  you ;  for  an  insult  to  be  really  that 
it  must  be  intentional." 

"  Then  you  think  I  was  unreasonably  angry  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  do;  and  ever  since  then  you  have  been  coldly  civil. 
I  cannot  stand  it.  I  shall  never  again  ask  you  for  what  you 
cannot  give,  but  if  you  are  to  continue  to  resent  what  I  said, 
then  Grey  Pine  is  no  home  for  me." 

She  stood  up,  the  fan  falling  to  the  floor.  "What  do  you 
want  me  to  say,  John  Penhallow?" 

"  Wait  a  little  —  just  a  word  more.  It  was  what  poor  Uncle 
Jim  said  that  hurt  you.  You  could  not  turn  on  him;  in  your 
quite  natural  dismay  or  disgust  you  turned  on  me,  who  meant 
only  to  help  in  a  dreadful  situation.  You  know  I  am  right " — 
his  voice  rose  as  he  went  on — "it  is  I,  not  you,  who  am  in 
sulted.  If  you  were  a  man,  I  should  ask  for  an  apology;  as 
you  are  the  woman  I  have  hopelessly  loved  for  years,  I  will  not 


494  WESTWAYS 

ask  you  to  say  you  were  wrong  —  I  do  not  want  you  to  say 
that.  I  want  you  to  say  you  are  sorry  you  hurt  me." 

"I  am  sorry  I  hurt  you,  John.  Will  that  do?" — her  eyes 
were  filling. 

"Yes  —  but— " 

"But  what?" 

"  Oh,  I  want  you  to  feel  sorry." 

"Don't  say  any  more,"  she  returned.  "Let  us  be  friends 
again."  She  put  out  her  hand,  he  took  it,  picked  up  her  fan, 
laid  it  on  the  table,  and  saying  "  Thank  you ! "  opened  the  door 
towards  which  she  moved  and  closed  it  after  her. 

"  And  so  " —  she  kept  saying  to  herself  — "  we  are  to  be  no 
more  than  friends."  She  sat  still  staring  across  the  hall,  trying 
to  read.  She  was  fast  losing  control  of  the  woman  who  was 
fenced  in  by  social  rule  and  custom,  trained  to  suppress  emotion 
and  to  be  the  steady  mistress  of  insurgent  passion.  "  My 
God,"  she  murmured,  "  I  should  never  have  been  angry  when  he 
bought  me,  if  I  had  not  loved  him  —  and  now  it  is  all  over  — 
perhaps ! " 

Some  readjustment  there  may  have  been,  for  when  he  re- 
entered  the  hall  an  hour  later,  she  was  reading.  He  said,  as 
she  looked  up,  "  I  mean  to  have  a  long  tramp  to-morrow.  I 
shall  start  early  and  walk  to  the  mills  and  on  to  the  ore-beds. 
Then  I  shall  return  over  the  hills  back  of  Westways,  and  bring 
you,  I  hope,  a  few  wood-pigeons.  I  may  be  a  little  late  for 
dinner." 

"But,  John,  it  is  quite  twelve  miles,  and  you  will  have  to 
carry  a  gun  —  and  your  arm — " 

John  laughed  happy  laughter.  "  That  was  so  like  Aunt 
Ann!" 

"Was  it?  —  and  now  you  will  say  'yes,  yes,  you  are  quite 
right,'  and  walk  away  and  do  just  as  you  meant  to  do,  like 
Uncle  Jim." 


WESTWAYS  495 

"  I  may,  but  I  will  not  walk  further  than  Grey  Pine."  The 
air  had  cleared  —  he  had  done  some  good ! 

"  Good-night/'  he  said,  "  it  is  late." 

"Don't  go  too  far,  John.  I  shall  read  a  while.  This  book 
is  really  so  interesting.  We  will  talk  about  it." 

"  Good-night,  once  more." 

The  woman  he  left  in  the  hall  laid  her  book  aside.  Her  un 
reasonable  vexation  had  gone,  defeated  by  the  quiet  statement 
of  his  simply  confessed  unhappiness.  She  looked  about  the 
hall  and  recalled  their  youth  and  the  love  of  which  she  still  felt 
sure.  The  manliness  of  his  ways  appealed  to  her  sense 
of  the  value  of  character.  Why  she  had  been  so  coldly  difficult 
of  approach  she  did  not  know.  What  woman  can  define  that 
defensive  instinct?  "He  shall  ask  me  again,  and  I  —  ah, 
Heaven!  —  I  love  him."  A  wild  passionate  longing  shook  her 
as  she  rose  to  her  feet. 

At  early  morning  John  wandered  away  through  the  woods 
feeling  the  joyful  relief  from  the  hot  air  of  cities.  After  his 
visit  to  the  mills  and  the  iron-mines,  he  struck  across  a  some 
what  unfamiliar  country,  found  few  birds,  and  the  blackened 
ravage  of  an  old  forest  fire.  He  returned  to  the  well- 
known  river-bank  below  the  garden  and  the  pines,  and  instead 
of  going  to  Grey  Pine  as  he  had  meant  to  do  went  on 
as  far  as  the  cabin,  failing  to  get  any  more  birds.  He  had 
walked  some  fourteen  miles,  and  was  reminded  by  a  distinct 
sense  of  fatigue  that  the  body  had  not  yet  regained  its  former/ 
vigour. 

It  was  about  five  of  the  warm  September  day  when  he  came 
to  the  old  log-house.  Smiling  as  he  recalled  the  memories  of 
his  childhood,  he  went  into  the  cabin  and  found  its  shelter 
pleasant  and  the  cooling  air  of  evening  grateful.  He  took  off 
his  game  bag,  laid  it  on  the  floor,  set  his  gun  against  the  wall, 
and  glad  of  a  rest  sat  down.  Having  enjoyed  his  first  smoke 


496  WESTWAYS 

of  the  day,  he  let  his  head  drop  on  the  floor,  and  by  no  means 
intending  it  fell  asleep. 

Leila  too  was  in  a  happier  mood,  and  sure  of  not  meeting 
John  set  out  to  walk  through  the  forest.  After  a  pleasant 
loitering  stroll  she  stopped  at  the  cabin  door,  and  as  she 
glanced  in  saw  John  Penhallow  asleep.  She  leaned  against  the 
door  post  and  considered  the  motionless  sleeper  in  the  shadows 
of  the  closing  day.  She  was  alone  with  him  —  alone  as  never 
before.  He  would  neither  question  nor  make  answer.  Strange 
thoughts  came  into  her  mind,  disturbing,  novel.  How  could  he 
sleep  without  a  pillow?  It  must  be  an  army  habit  after  tent- 
less  nights  of  exhaustion  in  the  deadly  trenches.  People  — 
men  —  had  tried  to  kill  this  living  silent  thing  before  her ;  and 
he  too  —  he  too  had  wanted  to  kill.  She  wondered  at  that  as 
with  the  motion  of  a  will-less  automaton  she  drew  nearer  step 
by  step.  Her  feet  unwatched  struck  the  half-filled  game-bag. 
She  stumbled,  caught  her  breath,  and  had  a  moment  of  fear  as 
she  hung  the  bag  on  the  wooden  hook  upon  which  as  a  child  she 
used  to  hang  her  sun-bonnet. 

Then  again  some  natural  yearning  moved  her,  and  un 
resisting  as  in  a  dream  she  drew  still  nearer  —  merely  a 
woman  in  an  unguarded  moment  once  again  under  the  control 
of  a  great  passion  which  knew  no  social  rule  of  conduct 
nor  the  maiden  modesties  of  a  serenely  dutiful  life.  At  each 
approach,  she  stood  still,  unashamed,  innocent  of  guile,  thrill 
ing  with  emotion  which  before  in  quiet  hours  had  been 
felt  as  no  more  disturbing  than  the  wandering  little  breezes 
which  scarcely  stir  the  leafage  of  the  young  spring.  She  stood 
still  until  she  woji  bodily  mastery  of  this  stormy  influence  with 
its  faintly  conveyed  sense  of  maiden  terror.  Her  thoughts 
wandered  as  she  looked  down  on  the  sleeper.  In  voiceless  self- 
whispered  speech  she  said,  "  Ah  me !  he  used  to  be  so  vexed  when 
I  said  he  was  too  young  to  ask  me  —  a  woman  —  to  marry  him. 
How  young  he  looks  now!"  The  wounded  arm  forever  crip- 


WESTWAYS  497 

pled  lay  across  his  breast.  She  caught  her  breath.  "  I 
wonder/'  she  thought,  "  if  we  get  younger  in  sleep  —  and  then 
age  in  the  daytime.  Good  Heavens !  he  is  smiling  like  a  baby. 
Oh !  but  I  should  like  to  know  what  he  is  thinking  of."  There 
was  unresisted  fascination  in  the  little  drama  of  passionate 
love  so  long  repressed. 

She  knelt  beside  him,  saw  the  one  great  beauty  of  the 
hardy  bronzed  face,  the  mouth  now  relaxed,  with  the  per 
fect  lip  lines  of  a  young  Antinous.  She  bent  over  him 
intent,  reading  his  face  as  a  child  reads  some  forbidden 
book,  reading  it  feature  by  feature  as  a  woman  reads  for 
the  first  time  with  understanding  a  passionate  love-poem.  Ah, 
if  he  would  but  open  his  eyes  and  then  sleep  again  and 
never  know.  He  moved,  and  she  drew  back  ready  for  flight, 
shy  and  startled.  And  now  he  was  quiet.  "  I  must  —  I  must," 
she  murmured.  "  His  lips  ?  Ah !  would  they  forgive  ?  —  and 
—  if,  if  he  wakens,  I  shall  die  of  shame.  Oh,  naughty  love  of 
mine  that  was  so  cruel  yesterday,  I  forgive  you !  "  What  would 
he  do  —  must  he  do  —  if  he  wakened?  The  risk,  the  urgent 
passion  of  appealing  love,  gave  her  approach  the  quality  of  a 
sacred  ceremonial.  She  bent  lower,  not  breathing,  fearful, 
helpless,  and  dropt  on  his  forehead  a  kiss,  light  as  the  touch  a 
honey-seeking  butterfly  leaves  on  an  unstirred  flower.  He 
moved  a  little ;  she  rose  in  alarm  and  backed  to  the  door.  "  Oh ! 
why  did  I  ?  "  she  said  to  herself,  reproachful  for  a  moment's 
delicious  weakness.  She  looked  back  at  the  motionless  sleeper, 
as  she  stood  in  the  doorway.  "  Why  did  I  ?  —  but  then  he  does 
look  so  young  —  and  innocent." 

,  Once  more  in  the  world  of  custom,  she  fled  through  the  forest 
shadows,  and  far  away  sank  down  panting.  She  caught  up  the 
tumbled  downfall  of  hair,  and  suddenly  another  Leila,  laughed 
as  she  remembered  that  he  would  miss  the  game-bag  he  had  set 
at  his  side.  How  puzzled  he  would  be  when  he  missed  it. 
Amused  delight  in  his  wondering  search  captured  her.  She 


498  WESTWAYS 

saw  again  the  beauty  of  his  mouth  and  the  face  above  it  as 
she  recalled  what  her  Aunt  Margaret  Grey  had  mischievously 
said  to  her,  a  girl,  of  James  Penhallow.  "He  has  the  one 
Penhallow  beauty  —  the  mouth,  but  then  he  has  that  monu 
mental  Penhallow  nose  —  it  might  be  in  the  way."  She  had 
not  understood,  but  now  she  did,  and  again  laughing  went  away 
homeward,  not  at  all  unhappy  or  repentant,  for  who  would  ever 
know,  and  love  is  a  priest  who  gives  absolution  easily. 


CHAPTEE  XXXIV 

IN  her  room  she  went  straight  to  the  long  cheval  glass  and 
looked  at  Leila  Grey.  "  So,  he  will  never  ask  me  again  ?  " 
The  mirror  reported  a  quite  other  answer.  "  Mark  Rivers  once 
said  conscience  runs  down  at  times  like  a  watch.  I  must  have 
forgotten  to  wind  up  mine.  How  could  I  have  done  it !  "  She 
blushed  a  little  at  the  remembrance.  "Well,  he  will  never 
know/'  She  dressed  in  white  summer  garb  with  unusual  care 
and  went  down  the  stairs  smiling. 

"  The  Captain  is  not  in  yet/'  said  the  maid. 

She  waited  long  for  John  Penhallow,  who  had  gone  up  the 
back  stairs,  and  now  at  last  came  down  to  dinner. 

"  Excuse  me,  Leila.  I  was  so  very  tired  that  I  fell  asleep 
in  the  old  cabin,  but  I  had  a  noble  tramp,  and  there  are  some 
birds,  not  many;  I  shot  badly."  He  said  no  word  of  the  dis 
placed  game-bag,  which  made  her  uneasy,  but  talked  of  the 
mills  and  of  some  trouble  at  the  mines  about  wages.  She  pre 
tended  to  be  interested. 

After  dinner,  she  said,  "You  will  want  to  smoke  —  come 
into  Uncle  Jim's  library.  I  like  the  pipe  smell.  How  Aunt 
Ann  detests  it!" 

"  Has  Uncle  Jim  gone  back  to  his  pipe  ?  "  he  inquired,  as  she 
sat  down. 

"  Yes,  and  Aunt  Ann  declares  that  she  likes  it  now." 

"How  pleasantly  you  women  can  fib,"  remarked  John. 

She  made  no  reply  except,  "Well,  sometimes."  He  did  not 
till  his  pipe  although  he  lighted  in  succession  two  matches  and 
let  them  burn  out. 

"Why  don't  you  smoke,  John?"     This  was  a  vague  effort 

499 


500  WESTWAYS 

at  the  self-defence  which  she  felt  might  be  needed,  the  mood 
©f  the  hour  not  being  at  all  like  the  mood  of  two  hours  ago. 

"No,"  he  replied,  "not  yet.  Where  did  you  walk  —  or  did 
you  walk  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  took  a  little  stroll  through  the  woods." 
"  Did  you  chance  to  go  by  the  old  cabin  ?  "    This  was  very 
dreadful. 

"  Oh,  one  hardly  remembers  if  one  passes  places  seen  every 
day.  Why  do  you  ask,  John  ?  " —  and  then  knew  she  was  fatally 
blundering. 

"  Why  ?  Oh,  I  fell  asleep,  and  when  I  woke  up  my  game-bag 
had  mysteriously  hung  itself  on  the  wall." 

"  You  might  have  put  it  there  and  forgotten  it." 
"  No,  some  one  must  have  been  in  the  cabin/' 
"  Oh,  John,  how  stupid  of  us !     Why,  of  course,  it  was  Jo- 
siah." 

John  was  in  a  state  of  mind  to  enjoy  the  game,  and  shaking 
his  head  in  negation  said,  "No,  Josiah  passed  me  long  before. 
He  had  a  lot  of  frogs  he  caught  in  Lonesome  Man's  Swamp." 
Miss  Leila  having  exhausted  all  the  possible  explanations, 
said  with  sweet  simplicity,  "  Did  you  ever  find  out  the  origin 
of  that  name?  Who  was  the  lonesome  man?  You  see,  John, 
lonesome  seems  to  stand  for  lonely  and  sad,  as  Mr.  Rivers  said." 
This  was  rather  too  clever,  but  the  young  woman  was  so  near 
detection  as  not  to  think  wisely. 

John  repeated  her  words,  "  Lonely  and  sad."  He  had  been 
humorously  sure  of  his  prey,  but  the  words  she  used  had  the 
effect  of  bringing  into  direct  speech  the  appeal  she  had  been 
trying  to  evade  and  knew  was  near  at  hand. 

He  stood  leaning  against  the  mantel,  his  crippled  arm  caught 
in  his  waistcoat.  Repeating  her  word  "  lonesome  "  "  more  than 
merely  alone" — he  put  aside  his  pipe,  the  companion  of  many 
camp-fires.  His  moment  of  after-silence  caused  the  blue  eyes 
to  question  timidly  with  upward  glance  as  their  owner  sat  be- 


WESTWAYS  501 

low  him.  He  was  very  grave  as  he  said,  "  I  have  come,  Leila, 
to  a  critical  time  in  my  life.  I  loved  you  in  a  boy's  unmeaning 
way;  I  loved  you  as  a  lad  and  a  man.  I  have  said  so  often  in 
one  way  or  another.  You  told  me  at  "West  Point  pretty  plainly 
that  —  oh,  you  made  it  clear  —  that  I  was  a  boy  asking  a 
woman  for  her  heart.  It  was  years  ago." 

"  John,  I  —  want  to  — " 

"Well  —  later  —  now  I  mean  to  have  my  say.  You  were 
not  altogether  wrong.  I  told  you  that  I  should  ask  again  when 
I  had  more  to  offer  than  a  boy  cadet.  Since  then  I  have  held 
my  tongue,  or  said  enough  to  be  sure  that  your  reply  made  clear 
that  my  time  had  not  yet  come. 

"You  cannot  know  how  much  you  have  been  a  part  of  my 
life.  I  went  gladly  into  the  war  because  it  was  a  righteous 
cause.  No  man  thinks  as  he  goes  into  action,  this  is  for  my 
country,  but  —  well,  Leila,  many  times  when  men  were  falling 
around  me,  you  have  been  with  me.  If  a  fatal  ball  had  found 
me,  I  should  have  carried  with  me  to  another  world  a  thought 
of  you.  This  is  not  mere  lover's  talk.  I  believe  in  you  —  you 
are  a  noble-minded  woman,  worthy  of  any  man's  love,  but" — 
and  he  smiled — "as  Josiah  put  it,  you  are  rather  numerous." 

"  Am  I  ?  —  I  am  much  obliged  by  Josiah's  study  of  my  char 
acter." 

"Don't,  please,  Leila!  It  is  true.  I  have  been  as  good  as 
my  word.  I  have  been  through  all  that  can  tempt  in  camps 
and  cities.  I  was  only  a  young  officer,  but  I  have  won  praise 
from  men  whose  praise  is  history.  Did  you  ever  think  that  an 
honest  love  may  be  to  a  man  like  a  second  —  an  angelic  —  con 
science  ?  By  Heaven !  Leila,  it  should  make  a  woman  careful." 

The  woman's  eyes  had  long  since  been  lost  to  the  man's,  as 
with  bent  head  she  listened  intently,  for  the  first  time  amazed 
at  what  she  had  been  to  a  man  whose  ideals  were  of  the  highest 
and  his  ways  beyond  reproach.  A  coy  upward  lift  of  the 
proudly  carried  head  —  a  mere  glance  of  transient  reply  —  too 


502  WESTWAYS 

brief  for  the  man  to  read  —  might  have  meant,  "Have  not  1 
too  been  careful  of  my  life ! " 

He  went  on  slowly.  "  You  and  I  have  not  been  spared  the 
discipline  of  responsibility.  Action,  danger  —  helps  a  man. 
You  at  home  have  had  the  worst  of  it  —  you  dear,  sweet,  beau 
tiful  thing.  It  would  have  made  some  women  peevish  or 
rebellious.  You  have  grown  under  it  in  mind  and  heart,  and 
I  think  the  soul  has  fed  the  dear  body.  To  have  set  you  free 
from  Aunt  Ann's  morbid  unreason  and  the  sorrow  of  Uncle 
Jim's  condition  would  have  been  enough  to  repay  my  taking 
over  responsibilities  which  Aunt  Ann  should  have  borne." 

"  John  —  I  — " 

"No,  dear,  let  me  say  a  word  more.  I  have  at  last  talked 
myself  out  —  or  almost.  It  is  vain  to  put  me  aside  again. 
You  do  not  dare  to  say  you  do  not  love  me — " 

"  You  have  not  asked  me,"  she  murmured. 

"  No,  I  said  I  would  not  yesterday.  A  tender  word  would 
have  brought  me  to  your  feet  —  and  I  was  very  sore." 

"  If  you  were  a  woman,  you  would  have  understood  and  — " 

"  Oh,  wait  a  little,"  he  said.  "  You  are  going  to  ask  me  to 
marry  you,  Leila  Grey  — "  She  was  on  her  feet.  "  Take  care," 
he  cried,  and  a  smile  on  the  strong  battle-tried  face  arrested 
her  angry  outburst. 

She  said  only,  "Why?  —  I  ask  —  you  —  why  indeed?" 

"  Because,  Leila,  you  owe  it  to  my  self-respect  —  because  you 
have  given  that  which  implies  love,  and  all  I  ask — " 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  eyes  that  implored  pity,  but  all 
she  found  herself  able  to  say  was,  "  I  don't  understand." 

"  You  kissed  me  in  the  cabin  this  afternoon  —  I  was  not 
asleep  —  I  had  half  risen  when  I  heard  you,  and  I  fell  back  in 
wondering  quiet  to  see  what  you  would  do  or  say  when  you 
should  wake  me  up." 

She  was  silent. 

"And  then  you  kissed  me — " 


WESTWAYS  503 

"  Oh,  John !  how  wicked  of  you  —  why  did  you  keep  so  still  ?  " 

"I  waited  —  longing." 

"For  what?" 

"  Hoping  you  would  kiss  me  again." 

"  What !  twice  ?  "  she  cried.  "  How  could  you  think  I  would 
kiss  you  twice  —  I  was  so  ashamed  — " 

"Well,  Leila?" 

She  began  to  feel  that  she  was  perilously  close  to  tears,  as  he 
said  softly,  "Leila  Grey!" 

"John  Penhallow,  will  you  take  me  —  oh,  John!  I  love 
you." 

He  caught  her  hand  and  touched  it  with  his  lips  rever 
ently. 

"  If,"  she  cried,  "  if  you  do  not  give  me  back  my  kiss,  I  shall 
die  of  shame." 

He  bent  over  her  and  kissed  her  forehead  lightly,  as  though 
he  were  in  fear  of  too  familiar  approach  to  a  thing  too  sacred 
for  a  rude  caress.  A  great  surf-like  rush  of  comprehension 
swept  over  the  woman.  "Was  I  so  loved  as  this  —  so  hon 
oured  ?  "  Then  she  said  suddenly,  "  You  are  pale  —  are  you 
in  pain  ?  "  for  she  saw  him  grasp  the  wounded  arm  and  set  his 
teeth. 

"  Yes,  yes  —  sometimes  —  when  things  happen  —  it  wakes  up 
and  reminds  me.  I  shall  be  better  in  a  moment.  Take  care  " 
—  for  her  arms  were  around  him  — "  I  think,  dear,  I  am  not 
yet  as  strong  as  I  shall  be  —  but  love  is  a  great  tonic,  and  —  I 
can  bear  no  more  to-night.  I  am  in  pain.  I  fear  this  has  been 
too  much  for  me." 

Then  he  kissed  her  on  lips  that  took  it  as  a  great  draft  from 
the  fountain  of  youth  and  love.  "  To-morrow,  dear,  we  will 
ride  together  —  in  the  morning.  Ah,  together !  " 

"Where  — Jack?" 

"  Oh,  into  fairyland !  God  bless  you !  Great  Heavens,  how 
beautiful  you  are !  Good-night !  " 


504  WESTWAYS 

She  fell  into  a  seat  as  tie  went  out,  and  heard  his  feet  on  the 
stair  —  then  he  stood  beside  her  again. 

"  Leila,  forgive  me  —  I  was  hard  —  uncourteous  —  to  make 
you  say — " 

"  Hush ! "  she  cried,  between  tears  and  laughter,  as  she  put 
her  hand  over  his  mouth,  "no  one  shall  abuse  my  Jack  —  not 
even  Captain  Penhallow.  There,  sir!  I  deserved  it."  She 
ran  by  him,  and  was  gone. 

I  have  not  the  pass-words  into  fairyland,  and  where  they  rode 
that  morning  in  September  is  not  within  my  knowledge;  nor 
can  I  say  what  adventures  they  may  have  met  with.  The  by 
ways  of  this  enchanted  land  here  and  there  by  ill-luck  come 
near  to  the  haunts  of  men,  who  may  catch  glimpses  of  such  as 
ride  through  fairyland  unsuspicious  of  other  eyes.  Billy  neg 
lectful  of  mails  this  morning,  was  on  the  river  bobbing  for  eels. 
To  be  long  attentive  to  anything  was  for  him  impossible,  where 
fore  his  wandering  gaze  caught  sight  for  a  moment  through  the 
fringe  of  willows  of  two  people  riding  slowly.  He  saw  with 
amazement  that  on  horseback  in  fairyland  the  feat  of  kissing 
is  possible. 

Some  hours  later,  my  lovers,  feeling  as  John  wickedly  quoted, 
that  "the  world  is  too  much  with  us,"  rode  into  Westways  to 
get  Billy's  neglected  mail. 

Mr.  Crocker,  lean  and  deaf,  at  ease  in  charge  of  the  grocery 
counter,  sat  unoccupied  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  while  Mrs.  Crocker 
bent  over  the  mail  she  had  sorted.  There  were  letters  for  the 
little  group  of  village  folk,  who  read  them  at  once  as  they  sat 
on  the  step  or  as  they  moved  away  stumbling  along  the  sidewalk. 

Mrs.  Crocker  sallied  out  with  a  batch  of  letters.  "Quite  a 
lot,  Captain.  Good-morning,  Leila." 

"Mail  these,  Mrs.  Crocker,"  said  the  travellers  fresh  from 
fairyland. 

"  I  saw  some  was  from  the  Squire  and  some  from  Mrs.  Pen- 
hallow  —  Squire 's  writing  better." 


WESTWAYS  505 

"  You  wicked  Mrs.  Crocker/'  said  John,  "  how  much  you  pick 
up  of  folk's  secrets,  I  should  like  to  know — " 

"  Secrets !  "  laughed  Leila.  "  They  can't  be  read  on  the  out 
side  of  letters." 

Then  Mrs.  Crocker  on  the  sidewalk  to  them  on  horseback 
began  to  talk.  John  seeing  that  Leila  was  interested  and 
amused  sat  still  and  listened. 

"  Secrets/'  exclaimed  the  post-mistress,  "  ain't  all  inside  of 
letters.  They  're  on  the  envelopes  sometimes.  Oh !  I  've  seen 
'em  in  war  time,  letters  that  looked  like  they  'd  been  out  in  the 
rain  —  sort  of  blistered ;  and  people  here  in  those  days  just  tore 
open  their  letters  and  laughed  or  cried."  Mrs.  Crocker  caught 
her  breath  and  paused. 

"  I  know,  John,"  said  Leila  in  a  low  aside. 

"  And  there  used  to  come  back  from  the  front  letters  marked 
'  missing '  or  f  can't  be  found.'  Folks  used  to  come  in  gay  and 
go  away  with  a  letter  just  crumpled  up  in  a  hand.  And  now 
it 's  all  over  —  and  up  you  come  right  gallant  and  happy.  Here 
comes  old  Granny  Lamb  tottering  along.  I  'd  invent  a  letter 
from  that  brute  if  I  could.  I  tell  you,  Leila,  mother-hope  dies 
hard." 

"It  is  sad  —  dreadful.     Come,  John." 

"  One  minute,  please,"  said  Mrs.  Crocker,  "  I  'm  not  half 
done.  I  tell  you,  Captain  John,  there  's  a  heap  of  human  nature 
comin'  and  goin'  through  a  post-office.  Well,  good-bye." 

They  rode  away  to  Grey  Pine  exchanging  bits  from  their  let 
ters.     Their    uncle    and    aunt    would    be    home    in    a    week.  ' 
"  Sooner  —  if  they  get  the  letter  I  mailed  last  night,"  laughed 
Leila. 

"I  should  like  to  have  seen  it." 

"No  doubt." 

At  the  open  avenue  gate  Josiah  was  waiting.  He  saluted  in 
soldier  fashion,  Penhallow  acknowledging  the  greeting  in  like 
manner. 


506  WESTWAYS 

Josiah  said,  "  Would  n't  you  just  let  me  have  a  minute  with 
the  Captain?" 

Leila  laughed.  "  Certainly/'  She  rode  away  wondering 
what  Josiah  had  to  report  alone  to  the  man  who  for  him  was 
and  always  would  be  Captain  despite  the  old  custom  of  the 
regular  army. 

"Well,  Josiah  —  nothing  wrong,  I  trust/' 

"  No,  sir  —  everything  just  entirely  right  —  but  first  I  got 
to  ask  your  advice.  I  've  had  a  letter  from  the  Colonel  —  he 
just  says  some  things  ought  to  make  a  man  kind  of  blush." 

John  had  the  odd  thought  that  a  blush  must  be  the  securely 
private  property  of  a  fellow  as  black  as  this  grey-headed  old 
friend.  "What  does  he  say,  Josiah?" 

"  He  wants  to  give  me  a  farm." 

"Well,  why  not  —  you  have  earned  a  dozen." 

"  I  'd  like  it  —  but  —  if  you  're  goin'  to  marry  Miss  Leila, 
I'd  rather  live  with  you." 

"  Good  Heavens ! "  said  the  traveller  out  of  fairyland,  a  what 
put  that  in  your  head  ?  " 

Josiah  smiled.  "  You  '11  please  to  excuse  me,  Captain  —  but 
I  thought  I  ought  to  tell  you  about  that  fool  Billy.  He  was 
bobbin'  for  eels  —  and  —  he  saw  you  go  by — " 

"Well,  what  else?" 

"  He  met  me  and  he  said, '  Saw  Mr.  John  kissin'  Miss  Leila ! ' 
He  was  off  like  a  shot  singin'  out  (  Goin'  to  get  married,  sure.' 
It  will  be  all  over  Westways  by  noon,  sir." 

John  laughed.  "Well,  it's  true,  Josiah  —  Confound  Billy! 
Well,  what  more?" 

"  Oh,  I  would  rather  live  with  you.  The  Colonel  wants  to 
give  me  a  farm  —  don't  want  any  farm." 

"  Well,  well  —  we  '11  see  about  it  later." 

"  The  trouble  would  be,  sir,  who  's  to  shave  the  Colonel  ?  " 

"  That 's  serious,"  said  John,  as  he  rode  away  to  rejoin  Leila, 
who  had  meant  to  keep  their  secret  from  the  village  until  their 


WESTWAYS  507 

aunt's  return.  Three  days  went  by  before  Ann  Penhallow's  let 
ter  of  reply  came  to  hand. 

"  Well,  any  more  news,  Leila  ?  "  said  John. 

"Yes,  but  not  altogether  pleasant  —  I  am  to  leave  early  to 
morrow.  Uncle  Jim  will  meet  me  in  Philadelphia  —  and,  oh! 
I  know  Aunt  Ann  well  —  there  will  be  no  end  of  shop 
ping." 

"  I  should  feel  worse  about  it,  Leila,  but  I  see  by  one  of  my 
letters  that  there  is  some  row  in  Pittsburgh  over  our  last  rails. 
I  am  not  responsible,  but  I  must  go  to-night  and  see  about  it. 
Isn't  it  dreadful,  Leila?" 

The  two  having  come  of  late  into  a  great  inheritance  in  fairy 
land  demanding  close  personal  attention  were  at  one  as  regarded 
absence. 

After  dinner  Leila  said,  "  My  order  to  report  to  headquarters 
from  heart-quarters  was  in  the  second  post-script.  I  have  saved 
the  rest  of  the  letter  for  you." 

"Bead  it,  please." 

"My  DEAR  CHILDREN:  You  are  a  pair  of  young  ostriches 
—  you  know  what  they  do.  Did  you  suppose  a  middle-aged 
ostrich  could  not  use  her  eyes?  I  did  think  it  took  a  quite 
needless  length  of  time." 

"Isn't  that  absurd,  John,  as  if — " 

"  Well,  what  more  ?  "  She  read  on  — "  I  dislike  long  engage 
ments  — " 

"  Now,  that  is  better,  Leila." 

"  Your  uncle  says  you  must  live  at  Grey  Pine.  I  said,  no  — 
young  married  people  had  better  be  alone.  He  must  build  you 
a  house  on  the  river  nearer  the  mills.  I  am  making  a  list  of 
what  furniture  you  will  require — " 

"  There  is  more  of  that  —  much  more,  John,  and  a  list  of 


508  WESTWAYS 

things  to  be  done  before  her  return.     Is  n't  that  like  what  aunt 
was  before  the  war  ?  " 

John  laughed.     "Well,  she  will  have  her  way." 
"  More   or  less/*    said    Leila.     "  Oh,   there 's   another   post 
script!" 
"Well?" 

"  I  think  you  should  be  married  about  Christmas  week.  Of 
course,  Mark  Rivers  will  marry  you,  and  I  shall  ask  the  Bishop 
to  assist,  when  I  see  him  on  our  way  home.  Don't  fail  to  write 
to  both  your  uncles." 

"  It  is  certainly  complete,"  said  John.  He  left  for  Pittsburgh 
that  night. 

I  have  little  to  add  to  this  long  story.  The  days  went  by 
swiftly,  and  after  a  week  all  of  the  family,  except  John,  were  once 
more  together  at  Grey  Pine.  Mark  Rivers  had  also  returned. 
He  was  too  evidently  in  one  of  his  moods  of  sombre  silentness,  but 
his  congratulations  were  warm  and  as  he  sat  at  dinner  he  made 
unusual  efforts  to  be  at  his  agreeable  best. 

When  they  left  the  table,  he  said,  "  No,  Colonel,  I  shall  not 
smoke  to-night.  May  I  have  a  few  minutes  of  your  time,  Mrs. 
Penhallow?" 

"  Certainly,  Mark  —  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  the  Bibb 
Class  —  I  mean  to  take  it  up  again."  She  led  the  way  into  her 
own  little  library.  "  Sit  down  —  there  is  so  much  to  talk  over. 
Of  course,  you  will  marry  these  dear  children  somewhere  about 
Christmas  time." 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  be  far  away." 

"Away!  Oh,  Mark!  surely  you  do  not  mean  to  leave 
us." 

"  Yes,  I  am  going  to  live  as  a  missionary  among  the  Indians." 

"  You  cannot  —  you  really  cannot  —  where  could  you  be  more 
useful  than  here?" 


WESTWAYS  509 

"  No,  I  must  go.  My  life  on  the  whole  has  been  most  happy 
here  —  and  how  to  thank  you  I  fail  to  be  able  to  say/' 

"  But  why,"  she  urged,  "  why  do  you  go  ?  " 

"Oh  —  I  want  —  I  must  have  an  active  life,  open  air,  even 
risks.  The  war  gave  me  what  I  need  for  entire  competence 
of  body  and  mind  to  use  in  my  Master's  service.  But  now,  the 
war  is  at  an  end — " 

"Thank  God!  But  all  you  ask  —  and  more  —  Mark,  except 
danger,  are  here  —  and  oh,  but  we  shall  miss  you,  and  more  than 
ever  when  we  miss  too  these  children.  Think  of  it  —  don't 
make  up  your  mind  until  James  talks  to  you  — " 

"  No,  I  go  to-morrow." 

"  But  it  does  seem  to  me,  Mark,  that  you  are  making  a  serious 
change  without  sufficient  consideration  of  what  you  lose  and 
we  lose." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  returned,  "  I  know  —  but  to  remain  is  for  me 
impossible." 

"But  why?" 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  looking  at  this  dear  friend  with  the 
over-filled  eyes  of  a  troubled  and  yet  resolute  manhood.  Then 
he  said,  "  I  did  not  mean  to  tell  you  why  in  my  weakness 
flight  alone  will  save  me  from  what  has  been  to  me  unbearable 
here  and  ever  will  be." 

"  Can  I  in  any  way  help  you  ?  " 

"  No." 

"But  what  is  it  —  trust  me  a  little  —  what  is  it?" 

He  hesitated,  and  then  said,  "  It  is  Leila  Grey !  God  pity 
my  weakness,  and  you  will  say  good-bye  and  give  the  Squire 
this  note  and  them  my  love."  He  was  gone. 

The  woman  sat  still  for  an  hour,  pitiful,  and  understanding 
the  flight  of  a  too  sensitive  man.  Then  she  gave  her  husband 
the  note,  with  her  good-night,  and  no  other  word.  Of  why  her 
friend  had  gone  she  said  later  nothing,  except  to  defend  him  for 
his  obedience  to  the  call  of  duty.  Late  that  evening  John  returned. 


510  WESTWAYS 

When  after  breakfast  next  day  he  and  Leila  were  riding 
through  the  wood-roads  of  the  forest,  John  said,  "  I  cannot  or 
I  could  not  see  why  Mr.  Rivers  went  away  so  abruptly." 

" NOT  I"  said  Leila.  Then  there  was  one  of  those  long  si 
lences  dear  to  lovers. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Jack  ?  " 

"  Uncle  Jim  told  me  last  night  the  story  of  the  early  life  of 
Mark  Rivers." 

"  Tell  it  to  me." 

He  told  it  — "  But,"  he  continued,  "  that  was  not  all  of  him. 
I  have  heard  Mr.  Rivers  hold  at  the  closest  attention  a  great 
crowd  of  soldiers  with  that  far-carrying  voice ;  and  then  to  hear 
as  he  led  them  singing  the  old  familiar  hymns  —  perhaps  a 
thousand  men  —  oh,  it  was  a  thing  to  remember!  And  they 
loved  him,  Leila,  because  behind  the  battle  line  he  was  coolly, 
serviceably  brave;  and  in  the  hospital  wards  —  well,  as  tender 
as  —  well,  as  you  would  have  been.  I  wondered,  Leila,  why  he 
did  not  marry  again.  The  first  was  a  mistake,  but  I  suppose 
he  knew  that  for  him  to  marry  would  have  been  wrong,  with 
that  sad  family  history.  Probably  life  never  offered  him  the 
temptation." 

"Perhaps  not,"  said  Leila,  and  they  rode  out  of  the  woods 
and  over  the  meadows.  "Let  us  talk  of  something  less  sad." 

"Well,  Leila,  a  pleasant  thing  to  discuss  is  Tom  McGregor. 
I  suspect  him  of  a  fortunate  love  affair  with  the  daughter  of  the 
General  at  Fortress  Monroe." 

"  Indeed  —  but  what  else  ?     Oh,  our  own  great  debt  to  him !  " 

"Uncle  Jim  is  considering  that.  We  may  trust  him  to  be 
more  than  generous.  Yes,  surely.  Now  for  a  run  over  this 
grass.  Can  you  take  that  fence?" 

"  Can  I,  indeed !     Follow  me,  Jack." 

"  Anywhere.    Everywhere,  Leila !  " 

THE   END 


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I  Utfc 

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IN  STACKS 

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